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Carol A. Stickney, Aged Fourteen 




G. P. Putnap/s Sk^Tir 

New York an^i L o';iJo^ 


A Daughter of the 


An Autobiography 


Caroline A. Stickney Greevey 

Anthor oi " lUereatioiit in Botany," "Plowen 

of Pteld, Hill, and Swamp," "Harpof'* 

Guide to Wild Plowen," ete. 



G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York and London 

Qlbe imfcltet&ocltet pte00 



• IT 


• • • * 

Ube imfcftetboclier ptct§» lUw llork 






''Everybody experiences the wonderful, the re- 
freshing tenderness that Memory shows when she 
touches the things of our early youth, our home and 
the gracious presences that peopled it. For the poor- 
est of us Memory treasures a golden age. Memory 
takes the common, ptirges, clarifies, ennobles, trans- 
figures it ; and the ordinary life of an ordinary boy 
(or girl) becomes to him, after forty ordinary years 
have passed, a thing of crystalline radiance/'—JJewry 
Dwight Sedgwick. 


I. — ^Foreword . . . , 


II. — My Parents . • . , 


III. — Childhood . . . , 


IV. — Infancy 


V. — Play-Time and Dawnings of 
Conscience . . . . 


VI. — Punishment . . . . 


VII.— The New House 


VIII. — My Mother . . . , 


IX. — ^The Puritan Sunday 

. 34 

X. — Missionaries . . . . 

• 40 

XI. — In Church . . . . 


XII. — ^The Unpardonable Sin . 




XIV.— What Katy Dro . . . 


XV.— The Three Bears . 

. 71 

XVI. — ^A Broken Arm 


XVII. — Mattie and I Fall into thi 
Water and are nearly 
Drowned . . . . 


■ 76 

• • 




XVIII. — ^AuNT Hannah . 
XIX. — Disciplining Aunt Hannah 

XX. — Bears and Other Beasties 
XXI. — ^Theft and its Consequences 
XXII. — ^Family Life 

XXIII. — ^A Cure for Warts 

XXIV. — Bees and Billy 
XXV.— A May-Day Party 
XXVI. — ^Thanksgiving Day 
XXVIL— Fast Day 

XXVIII. — Death of my Little Sister 
XXIX. — ^Uniting with the Church 
XXX. — ^Religious Impressions 

XXXI. — Medical Practice 
XXXII. — ^VisiT TO New York 

XXXIII.— The High School 

XXXIV. — Influence of Revolutionary 

Times .... 

XXXV. — ^Extracts from my Journal 

XXXVI. — Biblical Instruction 

XXXVII. — More of the Journal 
XXXVIII. — My Youngest Sister 













XXXIX. — ^Attempt to Frighten me .187 

XL. — ^The Year in Bangor, with 

MY Uncle .... 193 

XLI. — ^The Bangor High School . 198 

XLII. — ^Extracts from the Journal . 204 

XLIII. — ^A School Incident . . .215 

XLIV. — ^Entrance into Wheaton Semi- 
nary 221 

XLV. — Contest with my Parents 230 

XLVI. — ^The Religious Atmosphere of 

Wheaton Seminary . . 235 

XLVII. — Sanctification and Holiness . 241 

XLVIII. — Missionary Aspirations 

Quenched .... 247 

XLIX. — ^Yellow-Covered Literature . 255 

L. — ^The New Principle 260 



Carol A. Stickney, Aged Fourteen 


Facsimile of my Grandfather's Announce- 
ment TO HIS Wife's Mother, of the 
Birth of my Mother, Mary Hale 6 

The Stickney Home in Rockville, Conn. . 7 

Mr. and Mrs. John Newton Stickney . 28 

From a daguerreotype taken about 1850. 

Order op Exercises at the Quarterly 
Meeting of the Tolland County Tem- 
perance Society, South Coventry, Dec. 
25, 183s 48 

Programme of the First Concert of the 
"Harmonic Union" at the 2nd Con- 
gregational Church, on Tuesday Even- 
ing, Sept. 27, 1853 48 

Programme of the Little Folks' Concert 
Given by the "Rosebud Vocalists," at 
THE 1ST Congregational Church, Wednes- 
day Evening, Oct. 25, 1854 ... 48 

Mrs. Aurelia M. Stebbins . . -49 

Carol and Mattie, Aged Six and Four 77 




Mr. Webb, Missionary from Madras ioi 

Mrs. Ltdia Hale Devan, Missionary to 

v^^INA ••...• 

My Sister Jane, Aged Five 
Carol A. Stickney, Aged Sixteen 
Thomas Gage Stickney 




Mrs. Caroline C. Metcalf, PRiNaPAL of 
Wheaton Seminary for Twenty-five 
Years 225 

Miss Lucy Larcom, Teacher of Engush in 
Wheaton Seminary .... 226 

Miss Cutler 227 

Miss Maria Mellus 229 

Mr. Puller, Teacher of Music in Wheaton 
Seminary 240 

Mrs. Caroline A. S. Creevey . . 262 

Taken soon after nmrriage. 

Latest Photograph of Mrs. Creevey . 265 

A Daughter of the Puritans 



Nearly two generations have passed since I 
was a child. During this time great and remark- 
able changes have taken place in the religious 
training of children, owing, principally, to a partial 
loss of faith in a future, and consequent difference 
of view in regard to this life. The tendency to-day 
is to say, this life we know and therefore we will 
get all we can out of it. The life after death has 
never been proved by the return of the dead. 
Perhaps it exists only in our imagination which we 
call faith and this has weakened with the advent 
of luxury, with the material progress of the nine- 
teenth century, with the discoveries of science, 
with the consequent loss of reverence for the Bible 


as the verbally inspired and undisputed Word of 
God, and with the prospect of more and happier 
years this side of the grave. Once poverty and 
misforttme cotmted for nothing here, with the 
celestial city in sight. In fact it wotdd be worth 
while to be poor and imsuccessftd here, since 
there was to be an evening up of lives there. 
In the parable of Dives and Lazarus, the 
former ** received his good things in this life, and 
Lazarus evil things." **But now," the parable 
adds, ''he is comforted and thou art in anguish." 
The fact is that when science destroyed the crea- 
tion of the world in six days the comer-stone of 
the old, tmquestioning faith was knocked out, and 
the edifice has been crtmibling ever since. ' 

It is to show the strictness and severity of my 
early training, as well as to portray the ordinary 
life of a New England girl in the middle of the last 
century, that I am reviewing my childhood. 

If some of my "experiences" and the extracts 
from my "diary" seem impossible as judged by 
the children of this age, I wish to emphasize 
that they are not in the least particular overdrawn. 

» To-day, however, the edifice has been reconstructed, since 
learned Christian scholars have, by reverent criticism and honest 
search for truth, given us a "new Bible," acceptable to reason as 
well as faith, always the perfect guide to our moral and spiritual 


My memory is clear as to the workings of my con- 
science, and the quotations from letters and diaries 
are given word for word as they were written in 
those foolish first years. No eyes but mine ever 
saw the journal, the special charm of which was 
that its entries were my own secret. It had been 
long laid away, and only recently, by accident, 
was it found. I was not a prodigy, but I was most 
serious about securing my soul's eternal salva- 
tion. No nun, relinquishing all that is natural 
and free in this life, could have worked harder 
for that end. 

Aside from that, I was a normal child, fond of 
play, of school where I was ambitious to excel, 
affectionate, impulsive, and faulty. I led a sort 
of dual life, one full of fun and play, the other dark 
and mysterious, shadowed by an angry Deity 
whom my best efforts could not wholly please, 
and by an ''enemy of souls, " whose deceitful wiles 
could be met only by constant vigilance. Satan 
was a reality in those days. 



Father and mother were of old New England 
stock, mother being bom in Boston, father in a 
small town in Maine. Both parents were de- 
scended from Revolutionary families. Father could 
trace his line straight from the Mayflower, while 
mother's parents were cousins, a niece and nephew 
of Nathan Hale, the famous spy of the Revolution- 
ary war. My grandfather on my mother's side 
was David Hale, one of the first editors of the Jour- 
nal of Commerce, and his home was in New York 
City. He was a strong Congregationalist, and 
intimately connected with the establishment of 
Congregational churches in New York and Brook- 
lyn. The Broadway Tabernacle owes its founda- 
tion to him, and his money and influence helped to 
bring into existence the churches of Dr. Storrs and 
Mr. Beecher in Brooklyn. I am not giving the 
details of my grandfather's life further than to 
show that on both parents' sides Puritan blood 
flowed, almost undiluted, through my veins. 



My parents were married in New York in 1837, 
father being twenty-one years of age, mother two 
years older. I have the letter, written in 18 16 by 
my grandfather to his wife's mother, mentioning 
the birth of my mother. It is yellow with age and 
torn, but I have it framed and htmg under her 
picture. It reads: 

March 11, 1816. 

My dear Mother: 

I have now the pleasure to inform you, that your 
lovely daughter who has so often before made me 
happy, has this morning conferred on me the new 
obligation of a little daughter. Both the mother 
and the daughter are doing very well. Let us not for- 
get to render thanks to that Being who gives every 
blessing. We feel placed in a new situation, with new 
duties and new pleasures, and need your prayers that 
we may be enabled to devote our little treasure to that 
Being who has given her to us. 

With gratitude and duty 

I am, Your aflEectionate Son 

David Hale Jun'r. 

P.S. Your anksiety will make it my duty to write 
again in the cours of two weeks. The little creature is 
almost as heavy as a six pounds weight. 

Thus was announced the beginning of the life 
of one of the sweetest and best women that the 
Lord ever gave to this earth. 


When my father asked my grandfather for the 
hand of his lovely daughter Mary in marriage, 
Mr. Hale asked him whether he had ever learned 
a trade. As father had been in a store since he 
was fifteen years old, first in Hallowell, Maine, with 
his uncle William Stickney, and later in the great 
city, he had learned no trade. The lady of his 
desire was refused until he could show some 
proficiency in that line. Therefore he apprenticed 
himself to a cooper. When he proudly showed 
my grandfather a tub and a barrel all of his own 
make, his request was granted. 

Without loss of time, the young cooper started 
for Coventry, Connecticut, where Mary was living 
with her grandmother. Two or three days stifficed 
for the journey from New York, and John entered 
unannounced by letter, since letters cost twenty- 
five cents in those days. Scarcely could he eat 
and rest, so anxious was he to learn his fate, 
before he invited the lady to take a walk. They 
strolled around Coventry Pond, and the moon 
was risen before they returned with faces shining, 
hearts and hands joined for a long life. 



After an unsuccessful attempt to establish 
themselves in a western town (Michigan was 
considered western then), where my mother's first 
three children were bom, father and mother went 
to Rockville, a small but growing town in Connec- 
ticut, fifteen miles east of Hartford. It num- 
bered then, about four hundred inhabitants, but 
to-day, is counted among the thriving, manufactur- 
ing cities of the State. Father cut down pine 
trees on a hill, and built his house in the space 
thus made. For forty-five years, until his death, 
that was his home, very dear to him, a house added 
to here and there, as the wish seized him, until it 
defied all settled lines of architecture. The place 
extended over several acres, and at the foot of the 
hill father owned two of the first-built nulls . of the 
town. Large sheets of brown and white paper 
were made there. I was a frequent visitor to the 
mills, and became familiar with the details of 



paper manufacture from the room filled with 
dusty rags, and the large, revolving vats of pulp, 
to the machine which fed and cut ugly brown or 
clean, pretty, white paper. If any sheets were 
blemished they were thrown aside and I was 
permitted to gather them up to cut into paper 
dolls, of which I had a large and ever-increasing 
family. On these I expended much time and taste, 
some of the ** ladies" having many and variously 
colored dresses, coats, hats and aprons, in their 
wardrobes. These I painted with my box of water 
colors fastening everything on with ingeniously 
contrived belts and shoulder-straps. 

A waterfall, some seventy feet high, of much 
natural beauty, furnished the power for father's 
mills, or as we used to say, **ran the mills. " The 
stream continued to descend a mile or more, 
attracting, in the course of time, other factories, 
of men's woolen goods, of silk and cotton thread, 
and of envelopes, all of which proved the means of 
growth and wealth for this pretty New England 
village. Its modest houses crept up the slopes 
of hills on either side of the river, and a broad, 
level space in the heart of the town was made into 
parks around which were grouped churches 
and stores with the one hotel. The Main Street 
had three levels, one rising above another, with 


banks held in place by stone walls which were 
broken by flights of steps. It was on the Middle 
Road that I once came near losing my life, for the 
horse which I was driving was frightened by a 
broken harness some part of which struck against 
his heels, causing him to rim away. Had I not 
been able to turn his head into the stone wall, 
and hold it there until men came to the rescue, my 
light buggy must, inevitably, have been smashed 
or overturned a few rods farther on where the 
hotel stood and where many horses and teams 
were hitched. 

These three divisions of Main Street formed a 
unique and picturesque feature of the village. 
With its mill bells and whistles, the ntunerous oper- 
atives coming and going, its stores and farmers' 
wagons arriving from the coimtry around with 
produce for sale or exchange, its foundry, gro- 
cery stores, printing presses, banks, churches and 
schools, this grew, in not many years, to be a 
busy, bustling, important town. After some time, 
steam as a factory power was introduced, a 
change which multiplied the factories, but which 
seemed to my father and men like him, a sad 
innovation. For water cost nothing, but steam 
meant coal and labor. The Hockanum river 
flowed through the town taking its rise from Snipsic 


lake, a sheet of dear water about two miles long, 
with wooded, high banks forming one shore, low, 
ctaltivated farms spreading out from the other. In 
one spot there was a magnificent pine grove, a favor- 
ite visiting place of mine. Here I would walk, sit, 
and read, or lie down and dream on the pine needles 
in a summer afternoon. Since tramps were tm- 
known in those days, I often went alone and spent 
two or three hours in my Eden. The delicious smell 
of my grove rises in my nostrils now. The russet 
carpet was soft and clean. There the pink moc- 
casin flower grew, and occasionally the small, 
yellow lady's-slipper. The Hartford fern lay there 
in masses and I would twine it in wreaths for my 
hat. Many years after, I was married to the man 
of my choice under an arch of wild clematis and 
Hartford fern, gathered from my grove, and 
these plants seem always, in a special manner, to 
belong to me. Numberless other dainty small 
vines and flowers grew in my grove, those that 
flourished in the warm shade, which I used to 
talk to and love. I seldom picked them, because 
it seemed to hurt them, they wilted so soon. And 
they belonged so thoroughly to their environment. 
It is the careless plucking of our wild flowers by 
those who think they love them, but who often 
tear and destroy whole plants in the effort to secure 


a few blossoms, which is causing the disappearance 
of many of these tender friends of man. I was not 
guilty of that sin even as a very young person. 
Lying at full length upon my mossy cushions, I 
could gaze far up into the noble roof of my grove, 
where the stmlight came through only in spots. 
The pines made soft music, mingled with distant 
bird notes and the fine hum of insects. A softly 
singing brook made a contralto to the chorus. I 
often turned up old, decayed leaves, or broke off a 
piece of bark from an old stump, and surprised 
little black beetles or earwigs which ran, fright- 
ened, to cover. Sometimes a shy rabbit or gray 
squirrel or chipmunk stopped to look at me, 
and perhaps scold me, and once I saw a mink 
with its rat-like eyes peeping over a log. The wild 
things are very curious about us who intrude into 
their seclusion. There were no snakes or mos- 
quitoes in my grove, nothing to make one afraid, 
and the wavelets of the lake swished softly, not 
far off. 

After forty years I visited my grove, and lo! 
there was no grove. The trees had fallen victims 
to the Itunberman's axe, and doubtless the pine 
logs had made fiires for cool days in the summer 
cottages which now line the high banked shore of 
the lake. But the memory of those sights, sounds, 


and smells will always linger with me. It was 
there, that, without knowing it, I acquired a 
taste for the free out-of-doors and a desire to learn 
about birds, insects, and flowers, which has proved 
the greatest of pleasures, and which, in my books, 
I have striven to bring to the love of others. 



My mother had eight children, four of whom 
died in infancy. I was the eldest but one, the first- 
bom having been a boy who passed from the 
parental nest when he was six months old. The 
loss of this boy was a terrible blow to my parents. 
My mother told me that she feared father would 
lose his sanity through his wild grief. When I 
came, being a girl, he scarcely noticed me for many 
weeks of my babyhood. One day he came into 
the room where I was sitting in mother's lap. I 
stretched out my hands towards him, and crowed 
in baby fashion. He caught me in his arms, 
hugged me, and was my devoted father from that 
day, as long as he lived. 

Mother used to relate, with the sense of quiet 
humor for which she was noted, how she and father 
were taking a ride in a sleigh, near their home in 
Marshall, Michigan, when, in plowing through 
a deep drift, the sleigh was overturned. I, the 



baby, was deeping, well wrapped, in mother's anns. 
For safe keeping, she threw me as far as she could 
into the drift of snow on one side. When the 
sleigh was righted, and the horse harnessed in, a 
search was made for the baby. So quietly had I 
f^en into my soft bed, all traces of me had dis- 
appeared. Not until father had tramped to a 
near-by fann-house and borrowed a shovel, was I 
discovered and dug out, my mother, meanwhile, 
standing by, nearly frantic, lest I should be sufEo- 
cated. When found, securely enfolded in the 
shawl, I was still sleeping, nor did mother's 
delighted caresses disturb my nap. 



As I grew older and other babies came, I was 
early called upon to help mother. Generally, I 
was willing to give up my own plans and *'take 
the baby,'* for I was fond of the little helpless 
things, and was careful of them when babies, 
guiding them with an older sister's authority 
when they became old enough to be dragged out- 
doors, for I lived as much as possible in the open. 
I was healthy and muscular, playing with boys in 
preference to girls, partly because some nice boys 
lived near us, partly because I liked their rougher 
games. Our family discipline was not more rigid 
than it was in other families, and I was not under 
especial supervision. Our acres were broad enough 
to afford all the space and variety that we needed 
for our sports and pursuits. For rainy days we 
had the bam with its sweet-smelling hay. For fair 
weather there were the orchard, the garden, the 
groves of chestnut and other trees, the bushes 



where we hid when playing "Hi spy," the fields 
and woods where wild flowers grew. We had 
swings, cubby-houses, and the appxopriate places 
for ** poppy shows." These were shallow holes 
lined with moss, decorated with pretty stones, 
shells, bits of crockery or glass, all arranged with 
flowers and leaves so as to look like a kaleidoscope. 
They could be seen, only on payment of a pin. 
We would sing : 

*' A pin, a pin for a poppy show. 
Give me a pin and 1*11 let you know. " 

In winter our own hill afforded flne coasting, 
and big sleds with bright, smooth nmners were 
cherished by girls as well as boys. 

But very early in my life I was made to feel a 
sense of personal responsibility towards God. I 
was told that God could read my thoughts as well 
as hear every word I should say. This I found 
difficult to believe. He would require strict 
accoimt of every word and deed of mine. A 
severe Recording Angel spent his time writing down 
in a big book all my sins. These would be read 
off and made public before assembled multitudes 
on the Judgment Day. Could this publication of 
my misdemeanors be made privately, between the 
angel and myself, the ordeal would lose many of its 


terrors. But all the world would be there, all since 
Adam who had lived before me, and all who should 
live after me, and they would be filled with grief 
as they gazed at my blushing face. I declared to 
myself that I would not cry. I would be brazenly 
wicked and unrepentant. But as tears often came 
at the thought, I was not perfectly sure of myself, 
and could only hope that in the course of a long life, 
I might have some deeds to my credit. I do not 
mean that all this was told me in so many words, 
but my imagination supplemented the teachings of 
parents and Sunday-school teachers, and at the 
end of all things, the Judgment Day stood out in 
livid colors. The point especially emphasized was 
that I should have to answer, personally, for my 
own conduct. Father and mother could not help 
me if they would. I must stand alone. Therefore 
I had to be careful. If possible, I must deceive 
God into thinking that I was a good girl, even if 
that were not true. After all, God might be 
very like my mother who did not scold or punish 
severely, even when deeply offended. I could, 
generally, make her smile, while she reproved me. 
So, if I told a lie, but punished myself by reading 
two chapters instead of one (which was my daily 
stint), in the Bible, I felt that I had sufficiently 
atoned, had warded off the divine displeasure, and 


could go calmly and unafraid to bed. Mother 
often made me ''meditate'' as an aftermath of her 
light punishments. I would sit on my small chair, 
and really try to think the proper things. But 
my thoughts would wander to a bird's nest which 
I had fotmd that morning, or the cup of black- 
berries I had picked, or the new calf discovered 
in the bam the day before, too cunning for any- 
thing. As soon as the prescribed time, fifteen or 
twenty minutes, was over, I would arise with a 
happy sigh and turn to pleasanter occupations. 
There was nothing of the Buddhist about me. Ab- 
sorption into Nirvana would not have appealed to 
me. And to this day I don't know how to meditate. 
I must be actively employed, not sitting with 
hands folded, "a veranda lady, " as my small son 
used to call those who spent much of their time 
rocking back and forth upon the porch of a near-by 
hotel. But one of my ambitions was, if I should 
die young, to be made into a Sunday-school 
library book, like Little Jane, which I read many 
times with great relish. It would be the only 
compensation I could think of, should I be taken 
away. So I often said and wrote words to see 
how they would sound in a book which might be 
read by thoughtless children and which might lead 
them into ways of piety. 


Except for my religious troubles, I lived as 
other children did. I played **His py," **I'm on 
King's Land," **Drop the handkerchief," and 
other games then in vogue. I think all our games 
were social, depending upon several boys and girls 
for their successful conduct. I never cared for 
spinning tops, or flying kites unless done in com- 
pany. I also * * called upon ' ' other girls, when, if 
it was in the autumn, we would go through a field 
where the weeds had gone to seed so that little 
burrs and sticktights might acctunulate upon our 
dresses. Then sitting down in the woods, we would 
hold a * * sewing-society, ' ' by picking them oflf . We 
did not know that we were acting as disseminators of 
these weeds, doing the very thing by scattering seeds 
that nature intended us to do. I often climbed trees 
and tore my clothes. I was my mother's despair 
about the big rents made in aprons, tmtil she 
conceived the clever idea of making me mend my 
own garments done in the clumsiest fashion, and 
wear them after my unskilled fingers had accom- 
plished their task. I seldom walked except to 
church. I ran or skipped, or jumped rope or 
rolled hoop when sent to the post office or store 
or even to school. Every day I was obliged to 
hem a towel (I think my mother must have had 
scores of hemmed towels, for there was always one 


ready for sewing), or sew **over and over" the 
seam of a sheet, this duty keeping me in the house 
for half an hour after school. And if the work was 
carelessly done, it had to be ripped out and re- 
sewed. The days went quickly and happily enough. 
It was at night when I was alone and in the dark, 
that the awful facts of existence faced me, and I was 
afraid to go to sleep for fear I would never wake 
up. I would strain my eyes wide open, but in 
spite of all I could do, I could not stay awake, 
and so lost myself until morning, when I would 
open my eyes and consider that I had once more 
outwitted the bad angel who wanted to take me 
away in my sleep. And I have never liked the 
dark. Even now, when I awake in the night, 
I like to look from my window and see that there 
is still moonlight or starlight in the world. 

Do I make it clear that I lived two lives, one 
natural and childlike, the other terrified and tm- 
natural? I prayed, of course, but always as de- 
precating the wrath of an offended Deity. I was 
still very young when I strove after ** conviction 
of sin,** as the phrase went. Occasionally, when 
I had taken cold, or felt ill-used, I suspected that 
I had attained to that desirable state of mind. It 
was borne in upon me that I must pass through 
that experience in order to be saved. ** Saved" 


meant, of course, Heaven and the bliss reserved 
for the good after death. One day, after reading 
something, it came to me that, in order to be 
saved, I must be willing, if it were God's will, to 
be eternally lost. My case was hopeless, unless 
I could say from my heart, * * I am willing to be lost 
in Hell forever. ' ' After a sad struggle, I concluded 
that I had reached that saintly state and men- 
tioned the fact to my mother. She looked at me 
with some astonishment and quietly said, **A11 
the same, I should be careful, if I were you, to make 
my calling and election sure. " I then knew in 
my inner heart, that I had not the least doubt 
that somehow, in some way, I should be saved, 
otherwise I would not have been willing to be lost. 



My first experience with a court of justice, 
mother's of course, was when there were two of us, 
myself aged four, and Mattie aged two. Mother 
went away for the afternoon and promised some- 
thing nice on her return, to two good little girls. 
Mattie followed, always in my leading strings. 
They led, this time, to the keg of sugar. How 
delicious it was to lift the cover from the keg, biuy 
our hands in the brown, sticky, sweet stuff, and 
suck our fingers! Julia, the ** hired girl," was 
ironing, but distrusting the sudden silence which 
followed our previous chatter, she sought and found 
us. We were scolded, washed, and made present- 
able before mother came home. The story lost 
nothing in the telling. The blame was laid on me, 
where indeed, it belonged, for, as Julia said, I was 
old enough to know better. How, as I grew older, 
I got to hate that fateful preeminence in age! 
Mother said nothing, but she produced two large, 



wonderful oranges. Never since, have I seen such 
fruit as my memory paints it, yellow and juicy, 
fragrant, fit for angels to suck. Oranges, in those 
days, were a rare luxury. Mother gave both to 
Mattie. To me she said: **Go to your room 
and think how wicked it is to lead others into 
temptation. It is even worse than to do wrong 
yourself. * ' In a passion I cried, * * Keep them both, 
you little pig/' I went to my room while poor 
little Mattie, the innocent object of my wrath, 
wonderingly held an orange in each hand. I can 
almost feel, even now, some of the rage which 
filled my heart, and which made me refuse to taste 
the oranges when Mattie ate them. My pride 
had been severely wounded. It was not so much 
that I was deprived of mine, as that Mattie had 
two of the coveted fruits; that, somehow, she had 
made capital out of my niisfortune. Generally, I 
recognized the justice of my mother's dealings with 
us, even when, alas! I bore the brunt of her 
displeasure. Mother hated causing real suffering, 
but she believed in firm discipline, in ''breaking 
the will" as the phrase went. Usually her pen- 
alties were of the mildest kind. When Mattie 
and I quarreled, she would place us in two chairs 
facing each other, bidding us to look straight into 
one another's eyes, and on no account to smile. 


Very soon, smiles and then laughter came, and the 
bad feelings were gone. Then we would kiss and 
make up. Or an extra fifteen minutes of sewing, 
or a loss of the dessert at dinner, reminded us of 
rightful authority. In the matter of the oranges 
it would have* been wiser had mother given one of 
the desired fruits to my sister and reserved the 
other for me until I should have earned it by good 
behavior. However, I am sure that mother made 
fewer mistakes with us than I made in the train- 
ing of my own children when they came to me. 

Most mothers, even those whose intentions are 
the best, realize in later years that they made mis- 
takes in the care and development of their yotmg 
children, mostly because of misunderstanding of 
the child's point of view. 



I WELL remember the day when we were driven 
in a sleigh, to the new house on the hill. Mattie 
and I were nearly suffocated, having been placed 
in the bottom of the sleigh and covered with a 
buifalo robe. I was nearly five, old enough to 
look forward to the new home with pleasant 
expectancy. But the move was made in bleak 
March. The plastering of the rooms was still 
damp, and we all took cold. Mattie and I had 
lung fever. Mother had no help and was ill her- 
self. How she brought us children through the 
horrors of that chill month, she never knew. One 
day she thought I would follow the older brother 
whose death was still such a source of poignant 
grief to her and father. But father helped in 
the nursing and housekeeping, and we pulled 
through. Spring brought mild days and we gained 
in health and strength. There were rocks and 
hills all arotmd us. One hill not far from the 



house we called Mars Hill (spelled Ma's), because 
it was a favorite walking place for mother who 
often climbed there and sat looking long at the 
western sky. On all the fields and hills, lovely- 
flowers grew, bushes clustered, spruces, pines, 
hemlocks, sassafras, willows, and chestnut trees 
were our friends. There was not a square foot in 
all the region with which we were not soon familiar. 
Among the few books in my library, the most 
delightful was Malleville the first of Dr. Jacob 
Abbott's Franconia Stories. Beechnut was the 
real hero of the story, and I longed for just such a 
sort of elder friend. During two years of my 
early childhood, one boy answered to my ideal 
of Beechnut. He did ** chores" for the bam and 
house, mingled with the family, and part of the 
day went to school. I was very fond of him. He 
found time to interest and amuse us children. I 
can see him now, climbing the biggest chestnut 
tree, and, with a long pole, knocking down nuts, 
big and brown, from the ends of the branches. 
What a pity that New England's fine chestnuts 
are either gone or seem doomed to death! We 
had several trees on our land, and the ripening of 
chestnuts was one of the events of the autumn. 
We roasted or boiled them over the coals in the 
sitting-room fire, and we ate pockets full, raw. 


My Beechnut gave us rides on the wheelbarrow, 
and he told us no end of tales of fairies and dwarfs. 
When he left us, he gave me a beautiful, morocco 
covered volume of the Pilgrim's Progress with 
many engravings in it, and my name marked in 
gilt letters on the outside. This boy's name was 
Edmtmd Mitchell. He is doubtless long since 
dead. I have not heard of him since those early 
days of my life, but I would like here, to offer my 
grateful tribute to his kindness and gentleness 
towards one little girl. I have my Pilgrim's 
Progress still, and have read it through many times. 



When my father took over the property in Rock- 
ville which my mother's father had left him, it 
was heavily encumbered with a mortgage. My 
grandfather expected to have left it free from 
this mortgage, but died before the debt was paid. 
I remember the day, I was, perhaps, eight years 
old, when father returned from a drive to Tolland, 
our cotmty seat. * * Mary, " he said, * * it is all paid. 
Let us give thanks." They clasped each other, 
and, unmindful of my presence, knelt together in 
the middle of the room. I then tmderstood for 
the first time, why we had been granted so few 
luxuries in dress and table ; why my parents worked 
so imremittingly ; why, in winter, we lived in the 
dining-room so as to save the expense of a fire in the 
sitting-room ; why, in short, we practiced so many, 
seemingly unnecessary economies. We always 
went to bed in a cold room, and, mornings, we 
washed ourselves in cold, often ice water. Once 


Mr. and Mrs. John Newton Stickney 


a week, in winter, we were given a bath in a small 
tub of hot water in the warm kitchen. In summer 
there was no hardship connected with our bedroom 

Things were a little easier after the mortgage 
was paid off, for father had besides his mills, a store 
in the village, and mother had a little property 
of her own, invested in Journal of Commerce 
stocks, a heritage from her father. But habits 
of strict economy were early instilled into us 
children, and nothing was wasted that could possi- 
bly be used. That was part of New England 

Mother named our home ** Evening Side," be- 
cause it faced the west, and had a fine view as far 
as the Connecticut River and to the Meriden Hills 
beyond. In summer, the front veranda was our 
family meeting place, especially evenings, after 
tea, where we watched the sunsets. Showers 
came up from the northwest, in full view, big, 
black thunder-clouds which were the delight of our 
hearts. For we could see the whole grand pano- 
rama, retreating into the house and shutting the 
windows before the fury of the storm burst. 
Mother would not let us be afraid of thtmder 
showers. She said the Lord would protect us, and 
she and I would often stay outside, looking, 


thrilled, until father called us in. She watched 
and loved clouds more than any one I ever knew. 
And the fogs which outlined the Connecticut River, 
especially in the early mornings, long lines of 
white mist stretching across the entire west, had a 
fascination for her. She could predict by the ap- 
pearance of this fog quite accurately, for the day, 
before the publication of government forecasts, 
what the weather would be. Father would ask 
her, "What will the weather be, to-day, mother?" 
and hurry in his hay or let it stay out another 
night, according to her prophecy. Some of 
mother's signs are still well-known, as 

* ' Rainbow in the morning 
Is the sailor's warning. 
Rainbow at night 
Is the sailor's delight." 

"Evening red and morning gray 
Will set the traveler on his way. 
But evening gray and morning red 
Will bring down rain upon his head. " 

** Mackerel's scales and mare's tails 
Make lofty ships to carry low sails. " 



As the day lengthens 
The cold strengthens. " 

Strong March winds bring April showers : 
April showers bring sweet May flowers. " 


There were others but I have forgotten them. 

I still see mother who lived as seeing things 
invisible, looking into the glorious west, softly 
repeating to herself, "The heavens declare the 
glory of God, and the firmament showeth His handi- 
work." Early in my life I learned the secret oj 
my mother's well-poised character. She was 
accustomed to rise at five, in winter as well as in 
summer, in order to spend one hour in her private 
devotions. She read her Bible, sat silent a long 
time, then dropped on her knees and prayed in 
a low voice, often for half an hour. When she 
arose, her face was shining, and her cheerfulness 
was established for the day. Then humming 
softly one of her favorite hymns, as * * I would not 
live alway, " or '* Jesus, lover of my soul," or 
"Sun of my soul, my Saviour dear," she would go 
about getting breakfast. For no one could quite 
please mother in the matter of cooking, and her 
hand was in everjrthing that, promptly, at half- 
past seven, appeared upon the breakfast table. 
And in those days, the first meal of the day 
was a substantial affair, with meat and pota- 
toes, freshly baked bread or biscuit, and coffee. 
Later, a cereal came into vogue, and an apple 
or other fruit. As I frequently arose at five 
and either walked about the place or went for a 


horseback ride the meal was none too much for 

On accotmt of mother's cheery disposition, a 
matter of temperament as well as religion and 
common sense, she was often sent for by her 
neighbors in cases of sickness or bereavement. 
There were no trained nurses in those days, and 
friends helped one another in the duty of sitting up 
nights with the sick. And it seems to me mother 
was always preparing some delicacy for the invalids 
to eat. She could make the daintiest of dishes, 
and I was often allowed to be the happy messenger 
of these kindnesses. Very careftilly, I would take 
the plate or saucer, covered with a plate or napkin, 
and feel all the joy of its being blessed to give. 
Once when I was going on such an errand, I took 
a short-cut across otir orchard, and climbed our 
picket fence, instead of going arotmd by the road. 
As I was about to jump on the farther side, a 
snake put up its head and hissed. It was on the 
very spot where I would have alighted. I had 
already acquired momentum for the jump and 
could not draw back, but I exerted all my strength 
and flung myself as far as possible into the road. 
In the fall I broke my dish and spilled its contents. 
Sorrowfully I picked myself up and went to 
mother. She said that I had done just right, and 


that her little daughter's safety was of far more 
importance than a broken dish. Father was told, 
and he htmted for and fotmd the snake, a short, 
fat-headed adder. He killed it, and in his way, 
taught us a lesson in natural history as well as 
ethics. We all looked at the dead thing and 
learned that poisonous snakes had wide, flat 
cheeks which formed pouches for the secretion of 
venom, and that such a creature was a menace to 
society and should invariably be killed. Sin was 
like an adder in that it was deadly if it struck, but 
that it hissed before biting. If our consciences 
were alive we would hear the warning and jump 
away from the poisonous thing as far as we could. 



Mother believed in the Bible message from the 
first chapter of Genesis to the last of Revelation. 
No doubts about authenticity or meaning troubled 
her. Besides her daily reading of the Book, she 
had time for but few books or papers. And we 
took no magazines except the Home and Foreign 
Missionary organs. Our library was limited. 
The Journal of Commerce came daily and was 
eagerly read by father. The New York Observer 
appeared every Thtirsday. It was divided into 
two parts, secular and religious. The first was 
put out of sight on Sunday, but the religious half 
lay upon the table. If I ever tried to glance at 
the forbidden section, I was sternly reminded that 
this was the Lord's Day in which I must not even 
think my own thoughts. There were six days 
allotted me for secular pursuits, and the Lord 
asked for only one. Was not that little enough? 



** I must not work, I must not play 
Upon God's holy Sabbath Day. 
And if my parents speak the word, 
I must obey them in the Lord. " 

This verse was early taught us and often repeated. 
Our Sabbath (we did not call it Sunday, for 
that was a heathenish word suggestive of worship 
of the sun) began on Saturday night. Mother 
had been accustomed to **keep'* Saturday night, 
the sacred hours of Sunday ending with Sunday 
night. When my grandmother died, leaving 
mother, her eldest child of nine years, with three 
younger, mother was sent to live with her grand- 
mother in Coventry, Connecticut. Afterwards 
this old lady, my great grandmother, finished her 
long life, dying at eighty-se\ien years of age, in otir 
home. This was in 1849. I remember her 
slightly, regarding her with awe, she seemed so old. 
She paid little attention to me, except to want me 
to be quiet when in the room with her. She used 
to sit in one comer of our fireplace dressed in black 
bombazine, a f tdl skirt gathered to a plain, ungored 
waist. A white handkerchief was folded around 
her neck, and she wore a big cap with wide rufHes. 
With steel-bowed spectacles, she would sit all day 
in an old arm-chair covered with shiny, slippery 
leather. She was very large and took no step 


without her cane. This was my grandfather's 
mother, a strong and active woman in her younger 
days, but remembered by me only as ages old. 
When mother lived with her grandmother, the 
custom, at that time quite universal with good 
people, was to begin the holy day with simdown 
Saturday night, and end with sundown on Sun- 
day. No beds were made and nothing was cooked 
during the day. Mother told me she used to sit on 
the terrace of her grandmother's garden and watch 
for the last rays of the setting sun. When they 
disappeared, she rushed to her grandmother and 
annoimced the fact. Then began hurry and 
bustle. Beds were made, dishes that had accu- 
mulated for three meals were washed, clothes were 
put to soak for Monday's washing, and the secular 
week was in full swing. The custom was on the 
wane, but mother said it was safe to keep both 
nights, and she so ordered her household that 
everything was ready for Stmday by Saturday 
night. Play and work ceased, and Stmday-school 
lessons were learned during the evening. I think 
the poem Cotter's Saturday Night had some influ- 
ence on mother in this matter. She and I often 
read parts of it together. Family devotions 
were longer than on other evenings, and bedtime 
came earlier than usual. 


Our Stinday breakfast was of fried mush, 
"hasty pudding, " as we called it, but it was by no 
means a quick dish to prepare, as the com meal 
was boiled two or three hours on Saturday morning. 
It was fried slowly, and when crisp was eaten 
with molasses or a syrup made of brown sugar, 
maple syrup being then unknown or very expen- 
sive. Generally cheese was served with the 
hasty pudding. Church service began at half- 
past ten. Simday-school followed, and about 
twenty minutes after one we went home to dinner, 
very hungry. Dinner was of cold meat, cooked 
the day before, with a splendid dish of baked 
beans and salt pork, just as they were cooked 
in Boston. As I remember those beans, the art 
of cooking them seems to have disappeared. 
They were baked, slowly, all night, after serving 
for supper Saturday night. A steamed loaf of 
Boston brown bread always accompanied the 
beans, also a dish of '*cold slaw," chopped cab- 
bage with a creamy, hot sauce. We always had 
pies for dessert, five or six of which mother made 
every Saturday morning. The second preaching 
service was at half-past two. If the day was 
stormy, always the more delightful, we took our 
limcheon and ate it in the interim between Simday- 
school and church service, in the church porch. 


Or we went to the near-by home of mother's 
dearest friend, ''Cousin Abby, " where we ate no 
end of her wonderful doughnuts. If so stormy 
that old Billy had to be hitched up, so that we 
all crowded into the wagon or sleigh and rode to 
church, all the merrier. Billy went to the shed 
behind the church and munched oats contentedly. 
No one thought of staying at home on account of 
the weather. After the second service, it was 
rather dtill for us children, because father took a 
nap, and we had to keep quiet. We might walk 
aroimd the house in solemn procession but on no 
accoimt run. At six in the evening, in summer at 
seven, we had a prayer-meeting from which mother 
often remained at home, father never. I generally 
went from preference. It not only made my bed- 
time come a little later than usual, but it might 
give me a mark of credit in the Recording Angel's 
book. I enjoyed the singing, and when old 
enough I played the tunes for the hymns on the 
piano. During my early days, father played. 

Sometimes the regular prayer-meeting was 
varied by a Juvenile Missionary Society meeting, 
or by a gathering of the Cold Water Army. The 
latter was a temperance movement among the 
children, all of whom were required to sign a 
pledge to abstain for life from alcoholic drinks. 


In proof of this we received a medal strung on 
a ribbon which we proudly wore around our 
necks. At least twice a year, always on the 
Fourth of July, the army had a parade and 
marched to near-by woods where a jricnic was 
served by our mothers. We owned banners, and 
great was the pride and delight of the banner 
carriers. I remember a happy hotu* of my life 
when I carried a blue silk banner on which was a 
picture of a bubbling fountain. Two smaller 
children marched, one on each side of me, steady- 
ing the banner by cords. One banner was of red 
silk on which was a glass of wine. In the bottom 
of the glass a small, yellow snake was curled. 



My father figured prominently in the Juvenile 
Missionary Society, being, I think the founder of 
that institution. All his life he was interested in 
Foreign Missions. He believed in Home Missions 
too, but used to say that everyone was in favor 
of Home Missions, while Foreign, just as impor- 
tant, had fewer supporters. He was a corporate 
member of the American Board of Commissioners 
for Foreign Missions, the A. B. C. F. M. of the Con- 
gregational denomination. He gave really more 
than his means justified. He once asked me if I 
did not think our small church had contributed a 
fine sum to the Board. The amount given was 
$545 of which I happened to know that my father 
had drawn his check for $500. Real, live mission- 
aries often spoke to us children, and generally 
they were entertained at our house. They were 
treated with the utmost respect, the best of 

everjrthing in the house being theirs. One, 



representing the Seamen's Friends' Society, often 
came, and when seated at the table, would look 
with eager appreciation at the boimties spread out, 
rub his hands together, and say, ** Everything 
looks real nice and I presume it tastes so. ' ' This 
man made long prayers at our family devotions, 
and therefore was not in high favor among the 
children. Father's prayers were reasonably short. 
The missionary would kneel without the support 
of a chair (like Samuel in the pictures), fold 
his hands and lift them upward (also like Samuel), 
turn his face towards Heaven, and speak with a 
loud voice, as if, I used to think, the Lord were a 
little deaf. Father and mother treated him with 
the respect with which they received all who 
came to us, the choicest sheets being placed upon 
the best bed. But when, in later life, he asked 
for the hand of my youngest sister in marriage 
(he must have been past fifty, she still in her 
teens), I fancied the hospitality of my parents 
was somewhat less cordial. 

Our guest-chamber bed was always made up, 
and the room was in order. Mother's table was 
invariably good and sufficient. Mother was never 
caught imprepared. Father might bring two or 
three gentlemen to dinner, men with whom he had 
business in the bank or store, and mother had only 


to place the requisite number of extra plates on 
the table. She used to say: **I cook for your 
father, and whatever is good enough for him is 
good enough for anybody." 

My parents were strictly ruled by their con- 
sciences even in small matters. A sajdng of 
my father's was : ' * Don't mistake your wishes for 
your conscience. They are often very opposite 
things. Your business is to follow conscience, 
regardless of what you would like to do. " In my 
young mind this conscience was a mystery. I was 
told that it was God's voice in my soul, but I 
could never seem to hear it. I often wondered if 
conscience had been left out of my character. 



In church I generally pushed by my mother 
in order to sit at the **head of the pew. " Adjoin- 
ing ours a maiden lady sat, old to me, but not 
much over forty. She brought sprigs of dill 
and fennel seeds, one or two of which she invari- 
ably passed over to me. The nibbling of these 
spicy seeds would while away the dreary hour of 
the sermon, before I was old enough to take an 
interest in the discourse. If she had not the fennel 
that delightful old lady would tmroll a comer of 
her big, red handkerchief, and disclose two or 
three red peppermints which she fed to me, one 
at a time, with long intervals between. She took 
snuff, tapping a shell box which I thought exceed- 
ingly pretty. Once I reached my hand over the 
separating partition and she allowed me to gratify 
my unspoken wish. I took a pretty fair pinch 
which made me sneeze terribly, upsetting mother's 
and Miss Ely's gravity for several minutes. For 



a few Stindays after that, I was denied my favorite 

The choir was located in a gallery at the back of 
the church. When they sang, the congregation 
arose, turned around, faced the choir, and leaned 
comfortably against the backs of the front pews. 
After a time, it was suggested that it was treating 
the minister with disrespect to turn otir backs upon 
him, and it was determined to stand facing front. 
Well I remember what a stir this innovation against 
a long-established custom made, and how, for 
many Sundays, the congregation was divided, some 
turning to face the choir, others facing the minister. 
And after the custom to face forward became well 
established, one man, noted for his independence 
of thought and action, continued to turn towards 
the choir and sing a heavy bass, while everyone 
looked on with mingled amusement and disap- 
proval. This man once upset the gravity of the 
whole congregation by walking into church with 
beard, whiskers, and hair dyed a jet black. They 
had been white from time immemorial. People 

used to say, * * As set as old S ' ' He was a thorn 

in the side of the church, always forming an opposi- 
tion minority. Father, who seldom spoke an 
unkind word about anybody, would say: **It's a 
great thing to have somebody to pull out all by 


himself, making the rest pause. It is like the 
twelfth juror who disagrees and makes it impossi- 
ble to act without discretion." 

The following incident will show that at least 
one other member of our church had a mind of 
his own and was not afraid to express it. The 
minister was preaching a sermon on infant bap- 
tism in which he took the Calvinistic view that 
unbaptised infants, dying, would be lost eternally, 
even if sinless, since, having inherited corrupt 
natures, they would have sinned had they lived. 
After sitting uneasily for a time, our friend stepped 
from his pew, stood a minute fixedly regarding 
the preacher, then stamped heavily down the aisle 
towards the door. There he paused, turned, 
faced the pulpit, and shook his fist at the min- 
ister, after which he went out and slammed the 
door behind him. Most, if not all, of the congre- 
gation looked upon this protest with amusement, 
but with approval, for such a doctrine is repulsive 
to all the kindly instincts of humanity, and it is 
for kindness and fairness that New England has 
always stood. It is amazingly true that within 
twenty or twenty-five years I have heard the 
same theology preached with all seriousness from 
a Presbyterian pulpit. 

For many years my father played the organ in 


our church, he being a natural, but not an edu- 
cated musician. He received no salary (he did 
not count his services worth much), but gave to the 
church freely in this as in everything else. I often 
went with him on Saturday afternoons, perhaps 
blowing the bellows, if the boy could not be found, 
while he practiced the "voluntary" for Stinday 
morning. This he generally improvised, but 
selected his themes in advance. He taught me how 
to manipulate the stops and work the pedals, while 
I played some simple music. In fact when I was 
older I could take his place when he was obliged 
to be absent, and received praise for rather poor 
services. A boy named Joe blew the bellows on 
Sunday, and received from father a small sum 
therefor. Sometimes he would fall asleep during 
the sermon, and when the last hymn was due, a 
squeak and a groan would introduce the first bars. 
The people below would nudge each other and 
whisper, "I guess Joe hasn't finished his nap yet. " 
It was a proud day when water as "power" was 
placed in the church cellar to drive the organ 
bellows. But about that time father feared that 
his playing was not quite modern enough to match 
the bellows, and he resigned his place to a young 
lady who was "educated to the organ, " and who 
played the keys correctly but had none of the soul. 


the fire that my father put into such a piece, for 
example, as "The Dead March in Saul." He 
knew by heart the great oratorios. The Messiah^ 
The Creation, and Elijah. He often went to Boston 
to sing in the Handel and Haydn Society, with his 
uncle Paul Stickney and his cousin John Stickney 
who were members. And at such times he sang 
with all his soul, his eyes shining, his whole body 
tense with excitement and pleasure. He had a 
remarkably sweet and smooth voice and usually 
sang bass. But he could carry an excellent tenor. 
And so all of us had to sing or play. When I was 
eight years old, father lifted me to the piano 
stool, taught me the scales and how to finger them. 
I early became the accompanist of the family choir, 
able to read rather difficult music at sight. 

My uncle William Stickney, from Washington, 
D. C, was once visiting us, and we were having 
one of our evening concerts. The contralto was 
wanting. My uncle ordered me to take the part. 
I objected that I could not play the accompani- 
ment and sing too. ** Nonsense," said my uncle, 
"a Stickney unable to do anjrthing in music! 
However, get up and let me do the playing, while 
you sing," and of course I obeyed. 

In the "Stickney book," it is written, "The 
males (Stickneys) have blue eyes, curly hair, and 


are extremely musical." My father and his 
brothers bore this out in every particular. 


Those musical evenings, how full of delight 
they were ! Often we would invite a few musical 
neighbors in for a "sing,'' Mr. Cogswell, Mr. 
and Mrs. Stebbins, and Mrs. Fiske. And per- 
haps I was called upon for a piano solo, or father 
and I played some of our duets, he always giving 
me the "upper part." The ones I especially 
recollect were The Poet and Peasant, and The 
Caliph of Bagdad; also The Overture to William 
Tell, If to-day I ever chance to hear the strains 
of those old pieces from a hand-organ or dinner- 
band, my heart boimds, and I see in a dim picture 
of the past, myself, a little girl with father at my 
left hand, sitting at the piano, he rather disposed 
to crowd (for which I pushed him hard), both of us 
pounding the keys with all our might. Towards 
the end we accelerated the pace, until we fin- 
ished quite breathless, and received well-deserved 

I have foimd and reproduce here some old and 
quaint hymns printed for the Tolland County 
Temperance Society, of date, Christmas, 1835. I 



Dec. 25, 1835. 

Thdrfi is" a tra-npet soaid, O ir fdth€a;s' spirits slept 

Hexri Fir o'er hills aroiiai, While oti his march he kept ; 

la (hriilia^ tone, * But we must rise, 

Andniiis widj^ locks are orrey, Tiis iabrad foe mast qaelU 

M lahodd and youth this diy Mast chaage)iis yictim*8 knelU 

Oather in bUjt array, Far the ^U J soaads that tell 

On# cttase to owa. Oar victories. 

A fierce «nd deadly foe, It is a bloodless strife, 

The harbinger of v^o, IVsave, not sqaander life, 

is in quf land ;, A holy eaase : 

Where e'er iiis track hath pass*d, They, who this foe arrest, 

Laying our doar homes waste, This blot wfpe from her breast. 

More cold than wiater's bla^, MakjS oat dear coantry blest; . 

His ruthless. harrd. Gaia heaven's applause. 


Before thee vvo assemble now, 
And at thy feat, jreat Q jd we bo w ; 
We oraisiS the^ hr thy fxvor aho wn. 
For thou hist cnido (hisisaiisd thins o.yn.. 

• Our own fair land froin^shore to shore; 
It seemed that h(tpe itself' would fly; 
And desolation meet tine eye. 

But look again-: m^thinks I see 
Those darkenM clouds begin to flee : 
I see a bright orh rising slow,. 
Ar^d s3nding'o*cr thoselitlls, its gbw. 

Onward it moves, and in its couirse 
Dries orphans' tears and misery's source ; 
It stiKs to rest the mother's sighs. 
And wipjs the tear drops fr6;n her eyes. 

And what is this fair orb of light. 
That shines above our moral night,. 
Dispelling darkness with a glance ? 
It is the light of Temperance. 


Give thanks to God Most Higti, Shall still endure ; 

'fhe universal Lord ; And ever sure 

The sovereign Kin^ of Kings ; Abides thy word. 

And be his grace ador'd. He sent his only Son, 

His power and grace To save us from our wo , 

Are still the same, From Satan, sin and death,. 

And let his name And every hurtful foe. 

Have endless praise. Closis as first' virs^. 

He saw the nations lie, Give thanks aloud to God,. 

All perishing in sin ; To 'lod tha h.«ak\i«o&.^ ^>^^\ 

Ana pitied the sad state, An& UViVi^ «^c,\o4« ««^ 

Thd rain*d world was in. His ^oxVa an^iL ^oiT^xtv^ 
Thy mercy. Lord. Closet ax woivi -^«»i^ 


At the 2nd Congregational Churcb, on Tuesday 

Evening, Sept 27, 

I*y ogy ctTTfi ixxe i 


I* IntrodVClOI7» Bj Fall Orchestni. 

9m Clionilly * Hail, Great Creator/ fnHQ * nnmooj ofihe Spheres.* 


8» <|nartetCef from « )taMinielIo.* AuBBB. 


4. ItaetCt * Hear me, Norina.* RoMiVt- 

MRS. L. A. FTSK. First Soprano* 
MISS J VVELI^, Second ^ 

ff« Cllom% * From Heaven the loud angelic song began'' 

O. €hailt» * Hear my Prayer ' 

MRS A. M.-STBBBINS, First Soprano. H STEBBIN9, Tenor. 


AlISS M. DAVIS, Alto. G. TALGOTT, Baritone. 

V. BeelUltive dk Air, * with verdure < lad,' from the * Creation.' 

MR8.L A FISK. Haoxit. 

8* Trio» Sky Laflk. 

Mrs. a M. STEHBINS, First soprano% 
Miss C HIHBARD, Second 
J. N S TICKNEV, Bas!!. 

IK Ctaoni% * Now elevate the sign of Jadaiu' Hadth 

pArt II. 

1» Piano Forte Overture^ Mr. BARliETr, 

i» CliOms, from Mozart's Twelfth Mass. 

8* <|liartelte, * O %vatih you well hy daylight/ 

Mrs S. URWING, Soprano. J. SELDEN, Tenor, 
Miss L. DEWt:Y, Alto, J. W. THAYER, Bass. 

4i. I^uelty • Hear mv pniycr.* 

Mrs. A. M. STEBBINS,^ Soprano, J. N. STICKNEY, Bass. 

5. Solo dk Clioriis, < Strike tlio Cymball/ Fucitta. 

^ Bnetff 

Mas. L. A FlSIi; Soprano» J. N. STICKNEY, Bass. 

7. Songr, Move the merry sunshine. Mrs* A. M» STEDBIN3. 

8. ClloraSy From the Oratorio of tlic Crcatiuif. 







At Ike X%1 Congresalienal CiMirch, Wednesday Erenlng, Ocleber 35tlk, 1854. 


PART 1. 





5. THE WANDERER. Dialogue. 


7. THE SOLDIER. Song and Chorus. Mastere Grant and Ford 



PART 11. 



8. THE HOUR OP PRAYER. Dufilt- Soprano, Miss M Town> 
Aito^ Miss J. Thomas. 



6. THE ORPHAN FLOWER GIRL Song Carol A Stickn«y 







doubt whether they can be found in the hymn- 
books to-day. 

Two concert programs of a later date, 1853 and 
1854, show the kind of music that we sang. The 
selections are strong, some of them classical, 
and I know they were well rendered. Among the 
Rosebud Vocalists I was a proud soloist. Robed 
in a white dress, with a basket of red paper 
roses on my arm, I stepped bravely out on the 
platform, and sang, **Come, buy my roses red, 
come buy," while I waved my basket. I think 
I was old enough to be rather frightened, but 
received complacently the congratulations of my 
parents and friends after the performance was 

Mrs. Stebbins held, for many years, a singing- 
school which I faithfully attended. My father 
had heard Jenny Lind in New York, and raved 
over the quality of her voice. I was sure she could 
not excel our dear Mrs. Stebbins whose singing 
made me weep or dance, it was so full of pathos 
or merriment. I simply adored her, and she 
was wonderfully kind and helpful to us all. The 
children's concerts were the outcome of these 
singing classes. One spring we gave Flora's 
Festival, and if I remember rightly, the cantata 

was a great success. 


My father's favorite was a grand old hymn 
written by Isaac Watts in 1719. 

'O God, otir help in ages past, 
Otir hope for years to come, 
Otir shelter from the stormy blast 
And otir eternal home. 

Under the shadow of Thy throne 

Thy saints have dwelt secure. 
Sufficient is Thine arm alone 

And our defense is sure. 

Before the hills in order stood, 

Or earth received her frame, 
Prom everlasting Thou art God, 

To endless years the same. 

A thousand ages in Thy sight 

Are like an evening gone; 
Short as the watch that ends the night 

Before the rising sun. 

The busy tribes of flesh and blood 

With all their lives and cares 
Are carried downwards by Thy flood 

And lost in following years. 

Time, like an ever-rolling stream. 

Bears all its sons away; 
They fly forgotten as a dream 

Dies at the opening day. 

O God, our help in ages past. 

Our hope for years to come; 
Be Thou otir guard while troubles last 

And otir eternal Home. 
' It was sung to the tune St. Ann. 

Mrs. Aurelia M. Stebbins 



I WAS, perhaps, seven years old, when I com- 
mitted the unpardonable sin. One of my favor- 
ite games was "meeting." I was always the 
preacher, Mattie the congregation. There was a 
small and refractory brother by this time but he 
would not enter into the spirit of the game, so we 
chose the time when he took his daily nap. We 
sang hjrmns, I read the Bible and prayed. On a 
Sunday afternoon, it occurred to me to enact the 
scene of infant baptism which I had that morning 
witnessed in church. Mattie, being instructed, 
brought a doll to the front of the pulpit (a chair 
turned on its side), also a cup of water. I dipped 
my fingers into the cup, whispered to Mattie as I 
had seen the minister do, then sprinkled dolly as 
I pronounced its name, and said: "I baptize thee 
into the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy 
Ghost, Amen." No sooner had the words escaped 
from me than a terror seized me and I exclaimed: 



"Mattie, we have committed the unpardonable 
sin against the Holy Ghost. " I fled, crying to my 
mother who thought I must have seen a spider, 
that being to me the most fearful of creatures (and 
I think so to this day), a sight of whose swiftly 
moving evil body filled me with insane fright. It 
was long before mother could gather, between my 
sobs, the explanation that I had blasphemed 
the Holy Ghost, that I was lost forever, and would 
have to go to Hell when I died. Mother was very 
wise and sweet. She caught me to her breast and 
comforted me as only a loving mother can. She 
did not make light of my offense, but told me 
that as I had spoken the words thoughtlessly, I 
would be forgiven. But I must be careful of even 
little things in my play. She said I ought to be 
God's little girl the same as I was hers, and love 
Him so much that I could not bear to grieve Him. 
She said I must tell Him everything just as if He 
did not know it already, because He liked His 
children to talk to Him and tell Him of their faults. 
**What, tell Him of this?" I asked. ''Certainly, " 
she answered, "the telling will obtain His forgive- 
ness." So I went away and told God, and 
felt happy. If ever I had a "conversion," it 
was at this time. After that I tried to feel that 
this dreadful Being was more like mother than 


I had supposed, and that, perhaps. He cared for 

With regard to this childish act and my sorrow 

over it, it is well to notice two things ; one that I 

included Mattie in the sinful deed which was to 

shut me out of Heaven. If I must go to the awful 

place, I wanted company. So I said : * * Mattie, we 

have committed the unpardonable sin. ' ' The other 

is that the Father and the Son did not count. 

I was not in the least troubled about any possible 

disrespect shown towards the first two persons 

of the Trinity. All our religion, in those days, 

was tinged with the possibility of sin against the 

Holy Ghost which was unpardonable. He was a 

dark and strange Being, and for some reason had 

to be treated with more carefulness than the other 

two. In my mind God the Father sat afar off, 

on a great, white throne (an immense piece of 

rounded, white marble) , the Son standing by with 

his gaze fixed upon us poor mortals who somehow 

could not help sinning, but who could be forgiven 

for the asking. The Recording Angel stood in 

the group, writing always his dreadful account. 

There was a separate book for every person and 

some were very large, when persons were especially 

wicked. Others, like my own, were smaller. I 

wondered if my mother's book was not blank. She 


seemed to me to be pretty nearly perfect. At a 
little distance down, nearer the earth, a dark, dove- 
shaped cloud hung, the representation of the Holy 
Ghost. He seemed to me devoid of kindness and 
affection. He was watching out for blasphemies 
against His person, and when these were uttered, 
the Recording Angel wrote them down with very 
black marks. I think, if in references to the third 
person of the Trinity, the word Spirit had been 
used instead of Ghost, I should not have conjured 
up such terrible images. A ghost is ghostly. 



Julia Congden, my mother's "hired girl," or 
"help, " as she was called, stands out as an impor- 
tant figure in my early childhood. She was kind- 
ness itself, but a great disciplinarian. When she 
was very busy we had to keep out of the kitchen. 
On ironing days she would often let me come and 
sit on a comer of the table where she was smooth- 
ing the old wrinkled things, occasionally granting 
me the coveted privilege of doing the handkerchiefs 
and towels. She would make for me cookies into 
bears with cloves for eyes ; or she fashioned dough- 
nuts into boys. Julia often sang to me with a 
rich, low, sweet voice, quaint, minor Irish tunes, 
and she had no end of wonderful stories. It was 
through her that I became acquainted with Blue- 
beard, The Seven League Boots, Jack and the 
Bean-Stalk, Cinderella, Red-Riding Hood, and many 
others. Fairy godmothers and ugly witches figured 
largely in these tales which she patiently repeated 



to us time and time again. There were no chil- 
dren's books of that fascinating sort in otir small 
library. Besides the Pilgrim's Progress which 
Edmimd Mitchell had given me, I read, several 
times through, before I was twelve years old, 
Pollock's Course of Time and Milton's Paradise 
Lost. The former I especially enjoyed and I also 
enjoyed the look of surprise on the faces of my 
elders to whom I announced this fact. Paradise 
Lost fitted in with my ideas of things, angels and 
devils in council scheming against mortals, with 
the final triumph of the good angels and the 
divinity, but I skipped many of the speeches 
of the fiendish ones and got into the story as fast 
as possible. That delightful book, Malleville, 
to which I have already referred, introduced 
me to Beechnut, Phonny, Caroline, Mary Bell, 
and other children sketched in that book, who 
became to me real and lifelike. I played with 
them and talked to them. I had also Robert 
Dawson, the Brave Spirit, whose bravery con- 
illted chiefly in going with his cow to pasture in 
the rain, with a big tmibrella (in the picture), say- 
ing to himself, **Only one drop at a time." For 
|Hictry, I read Pretty Little Poems for Pretty 
l^iHh People, very pious and instructive. Their 
^^^Utlfic as well as rehgious teachings were unique. 



There once were two brothers, named William and 

Who were forced to work hard every day; 
So one of them thought that it could not be wrong. 

On the Sabbath to ramble and play. 

Said John to his brother, one fine Sabbath morn, 
Come, a ramble will do you some good; 

'Tis a parcel of nonsense going always to church. 
Or else to see Grandmother Wood. 

But William refused, and John was soon joined 
By some boys who all laughed at his brother; 

But William, as usual, went clean, first to church. 
And then to dine with his Grandmother. 

He told her the sermon, and sung her some hymns. 

And then in the Bible he read; 
And soon after tea was prepared to go home. 

When his brother was brought home quite dead. 

He'd climbed to the uttermost branch of a tree. 
When it broke, and he fell on his head. 

And frightened were all his companions when they 
Discovered, indeed, he was dead. 

Then William resolved more than ever to pray 

To be kept from the idle and rude; 
He grew up a man, became wealthy and wise, 

And loved by the pious and good. 

* Quotations from Pretty Little Poems for Pretty Little People. 
Printed in MDCCCL and composed by Louisa Watts. 



Come, come, my little Charlotte dear, 
And see what I have for you here, 
Because your work was neatly done, 
And lessons perfect every one; 

Ah, ah, I see that you can guess, 
So give me now a pretty kiss 
For this fine doll with curly hair. 
This cradle too and nice arm chair. 

O, how much better to be good. 
Than idle, passionate, or rude; 
I'll try, said Charlotte, to improve. 
And show how much Mamma I love. 


Mamma, I should like to know, 
Said Ann, the cause and use of snow. 
To me it is a wonder quite 
How it becomes so very white. 

With pleasure, her Mamma replied. 
Your wishes shall be gratified; 
I heed no pains I thus bestow, 
If you in useful knowledge grow. 

I think you heard, last night the rain. 
Loud beating 'gainst the window pane; 
But now the air is much too keen 
To let mere water fall as then. 


Snow first is vapours light and thin 
Which freeze ere they to fall begin; 
The air expands and makes it light, 
And light refracted, makes it white. 

But snow is of much service found, 
And pleased the farmers view the ground, 
When thickly covered, it destroys 
The vermin that concealed there lies. 

It warms and fructifies the soil. 
And makes the earth with plenty smile; 
We thankful, therefore, ought to be, 
When thus it covers field and tree. 


O, what a comfortable fire 
You have, mv dear Mamma! 

I'm sure we it this day require; 
What useful things coals are. 

If they should be forbidden us 
O, dear, what should we do? 

As when they first came into use, 
Five hundred years ago. 

England abounds in coal, I know. 
And much abroad is sent; 

It labour finds for thousands too. 
And makes much money spent. 


But how much better, dear Mamma, 

To sit beside this fire, 
Than working down in mines so far, 

I'm sure I should soon tire. 

Be thankful then, my child, that you 

Have comforts without care, 
That you have not such work to do 

As falls to miner's share. 

The Ice King and the Sweet South Wind, an 
abridged edition of Robinson Crusoe, and The Swiss 
Family Robinson completed my library. There 
was a dark closet upstairs on whose shelves I often 
rummaged, searching for book treasures. When I 
found The Scottish Chiefs, 1 felt repaid, and after 
that I was interested in the early history of Scot- 
land as contained in Chambers's Encyclopedia. 
Jtdia's stories, however, fed my imagination as no 
books did. I am inclined to reproduce two or 
three of these, as I think they are no longer in 
vogue, and they may interest the young folks 
of to-day who are fed on the more realistic Youth's 
Companion and St. Nicholas, One that I liked 
especially was called The Brown Bull of Orange. 
It ran in this way : 

There was once a stile on which if any one sat, she 
might wish and the wish would come true. (I had no 
idea what a stile was, but db you think I ever asked?) 


Three sisters went out walking one day, when they 
came to this stile. They concluded to try their luck. 
The eldest was very beautiful with golden curls and 
a fair skin. She jumped upon the stile, and sitting 
there said, ** I wish that the Prince of Spain may come 
and carry me off and marry me in eight days' time. " 
The second sister was less beautiful, but sweet and 
pleasant looking. She mounted the stile and said, 
*' I wish that the Duke of Algiers may come along and 
marry me and take me to his palace in sixteen days* 
time." The youngest sister was dark, with black 
eyes and hair, and was not accounted a beauty. She 
was, however, sensible. At first she refused to wish 
on the stile, but after her sisters' urging, she jumped up 
and said: '* There is nothing but foolishness in it, 
but to show you that your heads are turned about 
princes and dukes and that sort of thing, I wish that 
the brown bull of Orange may come and carry me off 
in twenty-four days' time." **0h how dreadful," 
said the elder sisters, "but you'll see." When they 
arrived home they told their father what they had 
done. '* Who is the brown bull of Orange? " he asked 
the younger sister, **and what did you mean?" '*I 
don't know and I don't care, " she answered. '* I just 
did it to show my sisters how foolish they were. " 

Now at the end of eight days, with a large retinue 
of soldiers, making a brave showing, the Prince of 
Spain stopped at the home of these three sisters, 
and calHng for the father, begged the hand of his 
eldest daughter in marriage. Of course it was granted 
to so magnificent a suitor, and the daughter, robing 
herself in her one silk dress, took her white parasol 
and departed. The wedding was celebrated that same 
evening at the Prince's castle, with great splendor. 


But he did not prove to be a kind husband, and 
his wife was often unhappy. 

The second daughter immediately went to work and 
made herself a beautiful dress of white silk, trimmed 
with red velvet. In sixteen days one hundred men on 
horseback, sitting on velvet and gold saddles, came 
prancing up to the door, and the Duke of Algiers called 
the father and made overttxres for his second daugh- 
ter's hand in marriage. The delighted father willingly 
gave her to the Duke who was exceedingly handsome 
although nearly as black as a negro. He rode upon a 
steed the like of which for swiftness and beauty had 
never been seen in those parts. The duke caught up 
the lovely maiden, placed her upon the saddle in front 
of himself, and rode away with all his retinue. [That 
word troubled me, but I concluded it meant a hundred 
men, and when in the New Testament we came to the 
study of the centiuion who was in command of a 
hundred men, I exclaimed: *'He was a retinue."] 
The father heard from her occasionally, but she was 
reticent about herself and they could only hope she 
was happy. Of one thing they were sure, that she must 
be surroimded with magnificence, for the Duke of 
Algiers in those days was a great personage. 

**Now what will you do?" said the father to his 
youngest daughter. 

** Nothing at all, but stay home and look after you, " 
iho answered. 

She went about her work and thought no more about 
hw silly wish, until at the end of twenty-four days a 
•plondid brown bull appeared at the door of her father's 
house. The girl approached him with fear and 
trembling. ** Go away, " she said, ** it was only a joke, 
find I cannot leave my father alone. You see my 


sisters have got married and gone away, and he is 
alone but for me." 

'*I am the Brown Bull of Orange/' he said, *'and I 
have come for you. *' He waited quietly, looking at 
her with a mild and gentle eye. Her father also came 
out and begged him to go away and leave him his only 
remaining daughter without whom he would be deso- 
late. But the bull only shook his head and stood 
patiently waiting. At last both saw that she must go, 
and embracing her father with a flood of tears, she 
climbed to the back of the bull, and he carried her safely 
to a beautiful house on a hill, some miles away. Trees 
and flowers were all around it, and in front there was 
a lake with goldfish swimming in it. Inside it was 
more like a palace than an ordinary house. Com- 
fortable chairs and sofas were in every room. Bidding 
her to be seated in one of the finest chairs, covered with 
blue silk damask, the Brown Bull of Orange brought 
her sweet milk in a golden bowl to drink, and a dish of 
large, luscious strawberries. He was so kind that she 
soon lost all fear of him, and after a few days, began to 
be happy. After six months had passed in this way 
the Brown Bull of Orange came to her one day, and 
said: **Now you have been here long enough to know 
your own mind. Will you go back to your father, or 
will you stay with me?" 

*'I will stay with you," she said, "only I wish my 
father could be here too. " 

'*But you do not really care for me? " he questioned. 

** I do indeed. How can I help caring for you when 
you are so good and kind to me?" she said. 

**Do you love me, or do you only pity me because 
I am a bull?" he asked. 

** I do really love you, " she replied. 


Then with a cry of delight, a splendid man stood 
before her, clad in kingly raiment. ** Since you love 
me," he said, '*the charm is broken." 

** What mean you? " she asked trembling and afraid. 

'* I have been under a wicked spell, " was the answer. 
"I am King of Orange and Castile. I offended a 
mighty magician. He turned me into a bull and 
ordered me to remain so until I foimd some nice 
girl to love me. This I despaired of doing until I 
heard your wish upon the stile. I then determined 
to try my fortune with you, against all hope that you 
would really come to love me. Had you answered 
differently, I would not have detained you longer 
against your wishes, but would have taken you at 
once to your father. Now let us go to him and tell 
him the glorious news. You are, truly, my good 
genius. Your father shall live with us, and you shall 
be queen over my restored kingdom. " 

And so it turned out. The father had greatly 
mourned the loss of his dear daughter, never expecting 
to see her again. When she came to him, riding in an 
elegant coach, dressed in rich, purple silk, pearls 
hanging around her neck, and a wonderful ring on her 
hand, he thought he should have fainted. He went 
with his daughter and her husband, and had a suite of 
six rooms in the king's palace for his own use, with no 
end of servants to do his bidding. And the two sisters 
were green with envy when they heard the story, 
because they were only a princess and a duchess, while 
she was a queen. 

There were difficulties in this story, geographical 
and other, but they did not trouble Jtdia's little 


audience. I pass along the tale very nearly as 
Jtilia used to tell it. I wish I could reproduce her 
expression of face and voice which made all her 
stories so real and delightful to me. 



When the katydids came in the fall, this was 
the explanation of what Katy did: 

Katy was the only child of her parents, and all 
three lived on a pleasant farm. Their nearest neigh- 
bors were half a mile away, so that Katy had no 
playmate. But she was not lonely, because she had 
Rosebud to play with. Rosebud was the pretty cow 
that gave nice milk for Katy's supper, and the little 
girl used to sit on the grass, near her mother, as that 
lady milked the cow. Katy often went into the 
pasttxre with Rosebud, and watched her while she 
chewed her cud, meanwhile gathering wild flowers and 
making them into a wreath or bouquet for herself. 
When it was time, Katy and Rosebud would come 
home together. 

One day Katy read a story about a little girl who had 
a fairy prince. (Her mother read it to her, because 
Katy could only read in words of two syllables.) 
By repeating some verses which were a charm, the 
little girl in the story could call her prince to her, 
and once he put a ring on her finger and made her his 
wife. He then took his bride away from her home, 



and seated her on his throne. The verses containing 
the charm were these : 

Hasten, fairy princekin, 
Come over the meadows to me; 

Leave your home in the sunshine; 
Your beautiful bride I will be. 

Bright on the woodland glances 
His jacket of orange and green; 

Now through the waving branches 
His silvery plume can be seen. 

Coming near and nearer, 

He holds a ring in his hand, 
I am to be the wearer. 

His queen in the flowery land. 

Hither, fairy princekin, 

Oh hasten hither to me. 
Lead away through the sunshine 

The little girl waiting for thee. 

The tune ran thus. 



^««>- *itwi, k«««>M^''l*A luiwfltk^^ lifttdL-^ UUuV w^ i^* 

One evening Rosebud came home without Katy, 
and Katy's parents could not understand it at all. 
They were very sad and puzzled. What had happened 
was this: After following Rosebud into the pasture 


and playing awhile, she remembered the fairy prinoekin 
and concluded to sing the verses which had the charm 
in them, as they might, perhaps, bring a fairy prince 
to her. She also started on a search for him. She 
climbed a high and difficult fence and almost fell down 
on the other side. She tore her dress, but thought it 
would not matter much, as her fairy prince would 
bring her another and prettier dress. She wandered 
away through the woods where she had never been 
before. After a long time it began to grow hot, and 
Katy realized that she was hungry. She sat down on 
a log and thought of her supper of bread and milk 
which always tasted so good. A big butterfly flitted 
before her. * ' Can you tell me, pretty butterfly, where 
my fairy princekin lives?" said Katy with a tearful 
voice. But the butterfly flew away. 

A grasshopper skipped at her feet. "Perhaps you 
know where my fairy princekin lives," said Katy. 
But the grasshopper hopped away. 

A squirrel was running up a tree, and he stopped 
and looked with curiosity at Katy. "Please, pretty 
squirrel, tell me where I shall find my fairy prince," 
said Katy. But the squirrel coughed, shook his 
bushy tail, and ran on to where his little ones were 
up high, in the hollow of a tree. 

A robin and a pewee were sitting in the same tree, 
but Katy questioned them in vain. 

Next Katy came to a pond on whose banks some 
green frogs were squatting. They were wise and 
solemn looking, and to them Katy put the same ques- 
tion. "Go home, go home," grunted a big fellow, 
and the others all grunted in chorus, "go home, go 
home." "But I can't go home," said Katy, "for I 
have lost my way. " Katy was a brave child, but she 


almost cried as she thought how nice it would be if she 
were at home. She found a few wild raspberries to 
eat, then since her strength would carry her no farther, 
she lay down on some soft leaves and went to sleep. 

Before it was quite dark, a big boy came along look- 
ing for his cow which had strayed from its pasture. 
Seeing a heap of clothes he came up to the spot and 
found Katy asleep. He whistled. (Here the story- 
teller gave a prolonged whistle.) ** Hallo! What's 
this? Wake up little one. How came you here?" 

Katy rubbed her eyes and sat up. **Are you my 
fairy princekin that I was looking for ? " she asked him. 

** What's that? Your fairy princekin? Why, yes. 
That's just what I must be. Do you want to come 
with me?" 

** Seems to me you live awfully far away, " said poor 
Katy. '*I have traveled, oh, I guess, fifty or five 
hundred miles. But why don't you wear your jacket 
of orange and green? And where's your silvery 

'* Got all those things at home. You can't expect a 
feller to wear his best clothes every day, you know. " 

**Why no, I suppose not," agreed Katy, half 

**Do you?" said the boy. 

'*No, mother doesn't let me." 

* * Who is your mother ? ' ' 

"Why, she's just my mother. Everybody knows 

'*Well, let's go and find my mother now, who is 
waiting for you. She'll give you somfe supper. Don't 
you want something to eat?" 

"Verily I do," said Katy, and now she let Harry, 
for that was the boy's name, pick her up, — Katy was a 


very little thing, — and carry her to his house which 
was not far away. The cow had already come home 
and Harry's father and mother were surprised to see 
Katy. At first, among these strange people, the little 
girl wanted to cry, but as Harry held her hand and ex- 
plained how she was his bride and he was her fairy 
princekin, his parents understood, and soon Katy was 
willing to sit in Harry's mother's lap, while she ate a 
bowl of bread and milk, after which she was put to bed 
in a nice, soft bed, near Harry's mother. While 
Harry was telling the story of how he had found 
Katy, there came a knock at the door. It was Katy's 
father who was hunting over all the country for his 
little daughter, calling at the neighbors' houses. 
When he saw his dear wee Katy asleep in a crib, he 
was so thankful he almost cried. It was concluded to 
let the little girl stay where she was until the next 
day, when Harry's father would harness the horse, 
and accompanied by Harry, would take her home. 

Katy slept late the next morning, but when she 
awoke and found her fairy prince bending over her, 
she was not one bit afraid. She had a nice breakfast, 
and the ride to her home was delightful, because 
Harry sat beside her. 

He told her that they were too young to marry, but 
later, they certainly would. And she must never 
run away from her home again, because her father 
and mother would feel so sorry about it. Katy 
promised she never would. And Harry promised to 
come and see his bride often, with his best jacket on, 
while Katy could sometimes come and see him. 

This story always ended with the words, "And 
this is what Katy did."- 



I WILL give one more example of Jtilia's stories, 
this one also, I believe, quite forgotten in the less 
imaginative tales offered to children to-day. This 
was called The Three Bears; and was a favorite 
of mine, as bears stood for the whole animal world 
of danger and romance. The play of bears was 
thrilling, since we hid from them when the cry was 
raised, "the bears are coming," scrambling up 
into a tree, where we looked down in safety upon 
our enemy, a boy who roared and made other fear- 
some noises, tmtil a htmter, generally another of 
the boys, came with a shotgtm (a bean-shooter), 
and killed the bear, after which we slid from our 
perch to the ground. The story ran in this way : 

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who ran 
away from school, and strayed a long distance from 
home. He came to a curious, small house. The door 
was not locked and he went in. Three chairs were in 
the first room. He sat down on the first and found 



it so hard he jumped up as quickly as he could. He 
sat down on the second and found it better, but not 
very soft. He sat down on the third and it was so 
soft he rested and rocked in it a long time. After 
awhile he went into the second room, where were three 
beds. He lay down on the first and it was so hard he 
sprang right up. He lay down on the second and found 
it better, but not very comfortable. He lay down on 
the third, and it was so soft he cuddled up and went 
to sleep. After a couple of hours he woke up and felt 
hungry. He went into the third room where there 
were three pans of milk. He tasted of the first and 
found it sour and disgusting. He tasted of the second 
and found it partly sweet and partly sour. He tasted 
of the third and it was so sweet he drank it all up. 
Just then he heard noises and hid himself quickly in 
the cupboard. Three bears who were owners of the 
house came in. Father Bear said (in a low, gruff 
voice), '* Who's been sitting in my chair?" Mother 
Bear said, '* Who's been sitting in my chair? " Little 
Boy Bear said (in a high, squeaky voice), ** Who's 
been sitting in my chair and squashed it all to 
pieces?" They went into the second room. Father 
Bear said, ''Who's been lying on my bed?" Mother 
Bear said, "Who's been lying on my bed?" Little 
Boy Bear said, "Who's been lying on my bed and 
tumbled it all up?" They went into the third 
room. Father Bear said, "Who's been tasting of 
my milk?" Mother Bear said, "Who's been tasting 
of my milk?" Little Boy Bear said, "Who's been 
drinking of my milk, and drunk it all up?" Father 
Bear said : " I'm going a hunting, and if I find that little 
boy who has been sitting on my chair, lying on my bed 
and tasting of my milk, I'll eat him up." Mother 


Bear said: "I'm going fishing, and if I find that little 
boy who has been sitting in my chair, Ijring in my 
bed, and tasting of my milk, I'll thrash him. " Little 
Boy Bear said: '* I'm going to stay here, and if I find 
that little boy who sat in my chair and broke it all 
down, lay on my bed and tumbled it all up, and drank 
up all my milk, I'll take him home. " 

After Father and Mother Bear had gone away. Little 
Boy Bear went to the cupboard and said: **Come out 
quickly, little boy, and I will take you home. But 
don't come here again, for it is not safe. Also don't 
run away from school again." The little boy was 
thoroughly frightened and promised and he never 



I HAD my share of accidents more or less serious. 
Once, standing on the edge of our veranda, swing- 
ing from my hands which clasped a rope stretched 
between two posts (I suppose used to dry towels), 
the rope broke and I fell heavily to the groimd. 
It was not a fall of more than two feet, but my arm 
was broken a little below the elbow. This was not 
evident except from the pain which I felt. Julia, 
for once, was not kind, for she reproached me for 
crying and said I was a baby to mind such a little 
thing as that. She sat in a swing fastened from 
hooks in the ceiling, and held Mattie in her lap. I 
was indignant with Julia and went oflf to grieve by 
myself. When mother came home she comforted 
me, and said that children ought to cry when they 
were hurt, and she was sure I was no cry-baby. 
She said my arm would soon be better, as I had 
only strained the muscles. After a week, a hard 
lump appeared on the arm, where the bones pro- 



truded, and somewhat alarmed, mother sent me to 
the doctor's oflSce. I was six years old, but I 
went alone. Mother was too busy to accompany 
me, and there was nobody else. Besides children 
were taught to stand upon their own feet in those 
days. The doctor f otmd it necessary to ref racture 
the broken bone which had begun to knit, press 
the ends into shape, and bind on splints. While 
this operation was being performed, I stood per- 
fectly still, without flinching, while silent tears 
rolled down my face. When all was over, with my 
arm in a sling, I walked sorrowfully home while 
the tears would come because of pain. Triumph- 
antly I went to Jtilia and said: '*You mean thing. 
I broke my arm and the doctor had to break it over 
again because it was not growing right, and he set 
it, and I am to tell mother that I was a brave girl. *' 
Julia was filled with compunction, and she caught 
me in her arms, rocked me, and told me one of her 
grief-assuaging stories. What mother thought I 
never knew. But the good doctor never wearied 
after that, of telling of my endurance. I was a 
great favorite of his as long as he lived in our 




About this time the careers of both Mattie and 

mjrself were very nearly ended by a drowning 

experience. I was sent to my father's store with 

express orders not to loiter by the way. Mattie 

went with me. The road there and back was 

straight enough, but it lay along the stream, and at 

one point flowers grew on the bank which shelved 

steeply down to the water. A sctun of oil that 

came from the nearest mill and collected in the 

grass and sedges growing near the shore covered 

the surface of the water. I never could pass 

flowers without at least looking at and smelling 

of them. I remember quite plainly that these 

formed a clump of spiraea or meadow-sweet. I 

stooped to pick one, my foot slipped on the 

smooth bank, and I fell in. Mattie stepped on 

the sctun of oil thinking it was ice and tried 

to catch hold of my dress. I touched Mattie's 



dress and knew that she was also in the water. 
We were absolutely hdpless and would soon have 
sunk for the last time, had not a girl who had 
been walking with us run to the foundry near 
by, and told some men who were working there 
of our mishap. They lost no time in fishing us out. 
Not many feet away there was a dam over which 
the water rushed with force. Had we fallen in a 
few feet farther down the stream, we should have 
been caught in the current and carried over the 
fall. It was a dose call. To this day I can vividly 
recall the tmpleasant sensations which came from 
breathing water into my lungs, and I do not think 
drowning is an easy death. Many thoughts came 
into my mind while I was in the water, espedally 
the fact that I was disobedient to my mother, so 
that if I died, where would I go? This experience 
has made me all my life tmusually timid in the 
ocean surf, where I have, in vain, tried to learn to 
swim. When we stood upon the bank with our 
clothes dripping, the colors of the delaine dresses 
run together, ' and with stmbonnets limp, we cried 
lustily. In this condition we were taken in a 
wagon to the top of otu* hill, and set down at 
our own door. The men went away without stop- 

' See copy of daguerreot3rpe in which these, our best frocks, 
were worn. 


ping to explain to mother, as they had ftalifilled 
their duty. Two dripping, weeping children stood 
before their mother. 

"Who in the world are you?" she asked, not 
recognizing us at first. 

**I was disobedient, and we got drowned,'* I 
replied, choking. As soon as mother knew us for 
her own girlies, she took off our wet clothes and 
put us in her nice, big bed with hot water in bottles 
at our feet. Mattie recovered soon, but I was 
very ill from cold and shock, and only just survived 
the terrible experience. For a week I lay between 
life and death, threatened with inflammation of the 
lungs, as pneumonia was then called. 

As I was getting better, my mother's brother 
took the opportunity one day to impress upon my 
conscience the enormity of my sin. He told me 
I was still tmregenerate (I was six years old), and 
if God in His mercy had not interposed and saved 
me, I would be even now beyond the reach of hope. 
He solemnly asked me, '* Where would you be now, 
if you had died in your disobedience?" I think 
my reply must have astonished him, for I answered, 
* 'Without, with dogs and whoremongers." The 
latter creatures were, to my mind, huge, black 
tjeasts, fearsome and all-devouring. I burst into 
tears, and mother, hearing, came quickly to my 


aid. She took in the situation. * 'Brother," she 
coninianded him, '*this is no time to talk to the 
poor child about her soul. Besides you had better 
leave that to me. You may be sure I shall try 
to do my duty when the appropriate time comes.'* 
My tmcle left the room and in later years he 
and I were the warmest of friends. The incident 
illustrates the severe thought of the age, and how 
strictly very young children were held to account 
for their misdeeds. To this day I can still feel 
my mother's soothing kiss as she comforted me, 
after my imcle's severe reproof. **As one whom 
his mother comforteth, " says one of the tenderest 
passages of Scripture, ' * so will I comfort you, saith 
the Lord." I do not claim that I have drawn 
all these incidents from memory. Mother related 
many of them to me with more or less amusement, 
later in my life. 



It was, perhaps, in the summer following our 
drowning experience, that mother went away for 
a few weeks' much needed rest. Father went 
with her, also the baby brother. We two girls 
were left in the charge of mother's maiden atmt, 
a most excellent woman, conscientious to excess, 
but who never had been trained by such as we. 
She thought it would be a simple thing, a combin- 
ation of gentleness and firmness, to keep us in the 
right paths. I would like to know of her change of 
views after those six weeks. Dear soul ! She has 
long been in her grave. She had beautiful, brown 
hair, long and straight, glossy and fine, and she 
brushed it slowly and with lingering care every day. 
To reinforce her in proper discipline, Mr. Pettin- 
gill, the "supply," of our church came to board 
at our house, where he also could keep an eye on 
us. Mr. Pettingill could smile, but most of the 

time his thin lips were shut in a firm and set 



expression. He wore whiskers, cut close about 
his mouth. His eye was steady and piercing, not 
good for transgressors to meet. He was not one 
to trifle with. One thing I was firmly resolved 
upon, that the time of my mother's absence should 
be one of freedom if not license. I organized 
Mattie and myself into a hostile camp, and our 
guardians must have had to revise their theories 
that children were like an open book full of blank 
pages which had only to be written in by good 
people to make their lives perfect and beautiful. 
Arthur Christopher Benson has the theory, that 
temperament is formed by heredity at birth and 
practically does not change with years. There 
will be development and evolution, but not change. 
He says, ** Personality is a stubborn thing." 
* 'Apart from certain definite acquirements, I 
cannot see that my character has altered in the 
smallest degree since boyhood." He adds, **I 
see exactly the same weaknesses, the same pitiful 
ambitions, the same faults" which he has learned 
better to conceal. And again: **I look aroimd, 
and the same phenomenon meets me everywhere. 
I do not know any instance among my friends 
where I can trace any radical change of character." 
He quotes the Latin line, * * Sicut erat in prindpio 
et nunc et semper et in saecula saeculorum. " I am 



inclined to agree with that view of the case. I 
know that as to myself, I am still quick to make 
decisions and to abide by them; still impetuous, 
still strongly partisan. I still enjoy life every 
day, whatever it may bring me. Life softens and 
chastens, but alters neither tendency nor tempera- 
ment. My friends sum me up by saying I am 
optimistic, which may be a fault or a virtue 
according to facts. 

Certain rules were made for us by Aimt Haimah, 
and one of them was that we, Mattie and I, must 
•ew one hour every afternoon, generally **over and 
over, " the seam of a sheet, or blocks for a bed- 
quilt. Mother's way had been better. She set us 
a ''stunt," directly after dinner, and if we could 
do it quickly the gain was ours. Aimt Hannah 
made it a question of time which was unbearable. 
We had to **do" our lessons in the morning to 
one of the two guardians. That was enough. 
Did Aunt Hannah but leave the room for an 
instant, I caught Mattie's hand, threw down 
the hated sheet, and rushed outdoors. Some- 
times the minister, who was on the watch, pur- 
sued and caught us, when the penalty was fifteen 
minutes added to the hour. But once among 
the trees, not even he could ferret out our hiding- 
place. There was not a tree on the place, except 


the nasty, sticky pines, which I did not fearlessly 
climb. I could ** shinny up" straight or crooked 
trunks for ten or fifteen feet, until I reached the 
branches where I found a nice seat. Many of these 
trees I peopled with fairies and gnomes, or old 
woman witches gathered from Julia's tales, and 
with these I talked as with friends, meanwhile 
rocking and swaying in the wind. My favor- 
ites were the white birches, of which there were 
many on our place, large and with thick foliage. 
By sitting in just the spot where I could balance 
evenly, I could spring up and down, and enjoy 
a delightful ** teeter. " This rocking represented 
traveling, and at such times I visited many places 
which I dimly knew through our simple geo- 
graphy lessons, oftenest New York, by boat or 
train, where my aimts and step-grandmother lived, 
and whither I greatly longed to go for a visit. 
Often I heard or saw Aimt Hannah on a searching 
party for me, but if I kept quiet in the tree tops, 
she could rarely find me. If she did, I was beyond 
her reach, and I would take advantage of the situ- 
ation by saying, * * Mother always lets me swing in 
the trees,'* upon which she would caution, **Well, 
don't fall, child." To this I would scornfully 
reply, **0f course not." And I never remember 
to have had any real hurt from my arboreal excur- 


sions. But my apron or dress did not always come 
oflf unscathed, or I scratched my arm. To both 
I was equally indifferent. One afternoon I thus 
tore and destroyed two aprons. Aunt Hannah 
took oflE the second with an ominous expression of 
countenance. She placed me upstairs in an imfur- 
nished room by myself, and locked the door. It 
happened that this was used as a store-room by 
my mother, who kept her choicest jams in the 
closet. I therefore took my imprisonment with 
rare resignation. I took down a glass from the 
shelf, knocked off the cover, and proceeded to par- 
take of the delicious sweetmeat. Absence of 
spoons was no hindrance. I had long ago learned 
the use of fingers in eating. Aunt Hannah had 
tied on a nice, clean, white apron and told me that 
I could not go out again before tea. Suddenly I 
noticed that my white apron was sadly stained 
with the beloved jam. It gave me a little start, 
but concluding that the harm was already done, 
and recalling the well-known proverb about 
being killed for a sheep, I went on and emptied 
the glass. Then I licked my hands, and upon my 
liberation, went to mother's pincushion, took a 
lot of pins and fastened tucks over all the stains. 
I thought they were securely hidden, but I was only 
a small ostrich with my head in the sand. De- 


mtirely I took my accustomed seat at table by the 
side of the minister. He eyed me with suspicion. 
Doubtless he thought I looked too sweet and sub- 
missive, as if I were really chastened by my 
afternoon's confinement. He lifted me from my 
chair, stood me on the table, and impinned me, pin 
after pin, imtil the apron stared me in the face 
looking like Joseph's coat which had been dipped 
in blood. My poor great aimt was horrified, and 
together these two drew from me the confession 
of my feast. An empty glass upstairs confirmed 
the over true tale. I was put to bed with a plain 
supper, and sweets of every kind were forbidden 
me for a week. They did not know that every 
evening I sauntered innocently into the kitchen 
where Julia had hidden for me a fine dish of jam 
or whatever the family had had. Also cake and a 
story were part of my feast. Had the guardians 
only laughed at my pranks and not deemed them 
ptmishable sins, we should have been at peace. I 
am sure they had Uttle sense of humor, which is 
another way of laying they lacked in^tgination. 



Partly to discipline Aunt Hannah, a few nights 
after the jam episode, I suggested to Mattie that 
we go to bed with our clothes on. We did so. 
Mattie always yielded to my suggestions, dear, 
sweet little thing. We lay very still, feigning 
sleep when the good lady came in to see us as she 
considered it her duty to do. I never could learn 

to put my clothes in an orderly fashion over a 


chair, and part of the effect of these nightly 
visits was a rearrangement of our vestments so 
that they would not be all wrinkles in the morning. 
Aunt Hannah missed the customary sights of heaps 
of drawers and aprons. Suddenly she said with 
cutting sarcasm, lost on me, however, **What 
good children! You must have folded up your 
clothes and laid them neatly in the bureau. I do 
not see a single article. Why, where can your 
shoes be ? " We looked up with drowsy innocence. 
** Surely you cannot have forgotten to take them 



off." Then she pulled down the bedclothes 
and laid bare the plot in all its turpitude. Under 
her reproachful eyes we were obliged to get up, dis- 
robe, fold, and lay in immaculate order upon our 
two chairs, everything of the day's wear, put on 
our nightdresses, and get back into bed where we 
giggled with delight long after Aimt Hannah 
went away. 

Whatever I did I confessed to Julia, and she 
always laughed with me, and advised me well and 
wisely. I generally took her advice, believing as 
she said, that the fairies knew much of what was 
going on among mortals, and were shocked when 
we did wrong, and were pleased when our actions 
were right. 

Dear JuUa! in a few years she grew pale and 
weak, and at last, had to leave mother's service 
to go and die with her relatives, a victim to 
the disease then so prevalent among New England's 
country folk, consiunption. I was heart-broken 
when she left, and so was mother. We all 
wept together, mother understanding so well the 
reason for her departure. I never again made 
an intimate friend of the "hired girl" in mother's 



My imagination was vivid in those days, and one 
picture often came to me which had no real exist- 
ence, but which filled me with horror. It was a 
row of small buildings, amost like chicken houses, 
situated far from the road, on the edge of a forest. 
The place was intensely lonely, dark, and desolate. 
I never saw persons or animals or any Uving 
thing about these houses, but I was sure that 
tragic deeds took place behind their silent walls. 
I would listen, at night, for screams of victims 
which were being tortured or murdered there. 
Whether such things were done by men or monsters, 
I never knew, but nothing could have persuaded 
me to explore. I was always looking for the 
reality of my picture, and once, in later years 
when I had almost forgotten the nightmare, dur- 
ing a ride, I saw a row of low houses, each with a 
small door and window, probably the homes of 
employes in a factory not far oflf, with a back- 



ground of trees. I turned cold with terror, 
and the effect lasted long after the ride was 

My life was haunted by animals. Some were 
real, more were imaginary. Once when my little 
sister was sick, I slept on a mattress at the foot 
of mother's bed in order to wait upon mother if 
she needed help during the night. My father was 
away at the time. I was anxious about my sister 
and lay awake much of the night listening to her 
troubled breathing. On the ceiling I saw a queer, 
moving, much exaggerated shadow. Quietly I 
climbed around the foot of the bed, so that I could 
see the table upon which a small lamp burned. A 
pitcher of milk stood on the table, near the bed. 
A rat was balancing itself upon the edge of the 
pitcher trjdng to reach the milk. The creature 
could not get its mouth down to the milk without 
losing its balance and falling in. After trying 
many times, the rat turned around, dipped its 
tail into the milk, then drew the tail through its 
mouth. This it did several times, I watching 
fascinated. After its appetite was sated, and it 
ran away, I arose and emptied the pitcher without 
waking mother. In the morning I told the story 
to mother who could hardly believe it. But 
it was perfectly true. I was wide awake and saw, 


first the queer, huge shadow, then the rat itself. 
My sister (this was not Mattie, but one still 
younger) recovered. 

The real object had no terrors for me. I was 
not afraid of rats or mice, or anything I could 

At times, especially after one of Julia's hair- 
raising stories, going to bed was fraught with 
frightful fancies. There were bears under the 
bed! Smothering ourselves under the sheet, we 
heard them growl, and Oh Heavens! felt them 
hump up the mattress as they lifted their backs. 
After getting into bed, we were not allowed to have 
a light in our room and on moonlight nights, 
with the blinds wide open, I did not mind the 
bears. On dark, and especially stormy nights, our 
imaginary beasties caused us to suffer almost 
agonies. We felt the bed move up and down, while 
cold perspiration covered our bodies. It was a sort 
of delicious fear which I treasured even after I had 
outgrown the thing. Once when Mattie and I 
were picking wild strawberries in the ** cows' 
pasture," I carefully examining every bush and 
wall behind which bears might lurk, we heard the 
croaking of frogs close by. The pasture bordered 
the mill-pond above the falls, and the banks were 
marshy. Mattie and I looked at each other. 


** Bears, " whispered I. Dropping baskets and 
berries, we fled away home in a panic of terror. 
Breathless we told mother of our dreadful experi- 
ence, adding that we had seen two big, black bears. 
Mother put down her work and went with us to 
the pasture, telling us on the way that we were 
silly children. Holding one of us by each hand, 
she led us to the swamp where we could see frogs 
swelling their throats and croaking. She made 
us stand and look at them. We admitted that 
these were our bears. Mother talked with us about 
the sin of lying and the disgrace of cowardice. 
She told us that not a bear could be found within 
a hundred miles of us. Surely mother tried to 
make us truthful and brave, but my quick fancy 
must have made hers a hard task. Many such 
faults belong to the era of childhood, and like 
the ** leg-ache, " which used to afflict me sorely, 
with a wise letting alone, will be, in time, out- 

Father gave us pigeons and rabbits for pets, 
and, of course, we always had a cat and kittens, 
also a cimning little pig, whose tragic death in the 
fall overshadowed our pleasure in it. Mother 
had an aversion to dogs and would not permit us 
to own one. When father begged for one such pet, 
mother worked a dog on each of a pair of slippers 


for him, adding that she was quite willing to allow 
such as those to walk around the house, but no 
others. Pather appreciated the humor of the gift 
and so we did not have a canine pet. 



The story I am about to tell of myself reveals 
much that puzzles me in the review. Not that I 
cannot trace my mental attitude, but it was 
contrary to my character to deceive or steal, and 
yet it is a fact that, on this occasion, I did 
both with perfect deliberation. It may have 
been, in part, the thrill of excitement at being 
able successfully to enter into a forbidden land. 
For many years, I was sometimes sorely tempted 
to disregard early training, conscience, and con- 
ventional rules, and do something unexpected, 
even by myself. I can only explain the feeling 
by saying I was as if shackled, impeded by rigid 
rules of conduct, and I wanted to jimip the fence 
and find interesting by-ways, not straying so far 
as to get lost, but so as to feel free to do as I wanted 
to do and not as I ought. After wandering, some- 
times only in fancy, in these forbidden lanes, I 
would come back contented and be good again. 



My mother, wishing something from the store, 
sent me to her pocket-book for the necessary 
change. A ten-cent piece lay temptingly in the 
ptirse, and I took it and secreted it in my hand. 
Mattie went with me. I know the exact spot 
where I dropped that dime, stooped and picked it 
up, saying, **0h, Mattie! see here. I have foimd 
ten cents. " Mattie was delighted as always with 
my good fortune, and asked to see it several 
times. Arriving home, mother was told, and 
later, father, the good news. Father suggested 
that part of it (such a big sum as it was in those 
days!) might go to the missionaries. I demurred 
at first, having visions of candy, but soon, perhaps 
because it was already burning my hand, I deter- 
mined to devote the whole amount to this cause 
so dear to all our hearts. When I told father, he 
was lavish in his praise. He said I would never 
regret my generous act. I did not. The Juvenile 
Missionary Society soon held its quarterly meet- 
ing. A returned missionary, who was being enter- 
tained at our house, was engaged to make the 
principal speech of the evening. Father told 
him the story of my ten-cent piece, and my rare 
self-denial in giving the whole sum to the cause 
was commented upon. Benignly the missionary 
smiled on me. Caressingly he stroked my curls 


(pretty poor ctirls they were, because always blown 
about by the wind, and kept out of my eyes by a 
round comb which I was forever taking out and 
putting back) while he said I was a dear, good 
child, and he hoped God would call me to be a 
missionary myself, when I was older. I professed 
myself ready to go then and there if the call should 
come. When the good man arose in meeting 
which was held in the church to accommodate the 
large numbers which usually came, he told in my 
deUghted and blushing presence, the whole tale, 
mentioning no names, but indicating rather clearly 
by looks in my direction that dear, unselfish little 
girl. The other girls looked at me with envy. 
Could dimes have been scattered over the streets 
of our town the missionary box would have been 
well filled. I tried to look unconscious, but inwardly 
swelled with pride. My story is not finished. 
The missionary took my dime, made it the text of 
many other speeches in other churches, and putting 
it up at auction, raised much money. After the 
bidding the coin was returned to the missionary 
who used it in like manner still further. Lastly 
it was sent to The Dayspringj a children's mission- 
ary magazine which had a wide circulation in those 
days. The story was published, names being 
withheld, and all children's societies were asked to 


bid for it. A large sium of money was thus raised, 
and some missionary finally received the dime and 
stopped its benevolent travels. In the proud 
consciousness of my service to the cause of mis- 
sions, it is evident why, neither then, nor for long 
afterwards could I tell the truth as to how I came 
by the money. When I did confess, in after years 
to my mother, it was not with any sense of sin, 
but rather as if I had been ** smart. " But some- 
thing in the experience implanted in me a horror of 
the meanness and cowardice of deceit and theft, 
so that it would have been impossible in all my 
after life to have cheated even a car driver of a 
nickel. I had not heard of ** tainted money," 
and I even wondered if God would not be grateful 
to me for my involuntary services, although I 
promised Him I would not do the same again. 

The Dayspring long ago ceased its lurid exist- 
ence. I recall, distinctly, its pictures of the 
Juggernaut running over prostrate men and 
women, of people hanging from the awful thing 
fastened high with hooks in their backs, of widows 
btiming on their husbands' pyres (piles I called 
them), of babies thrown to crocodiles, great 
reptiles which crawled on the banks of rivers with 
their mouths wide open, and other pleasant cus- 
toms of the benighted heathen. These people, in 


the pictures were black, and it was long before I 
could see a negro man or woman without a shudder. 
India, especially, was hopelessly bad and cruel. 
My father had one sentence in his morning prayers 
which I followed with fervor. As he prayed for the 
heathen, he expressed thanks that we were bom 
and brought up in this favored Christian land. 



While, as a child, I cared not at all for money for 
its own sake, from this time I became an ardent 
supporter of the missionary cause and begged 
for some way of earning money. We were told 
that only by self-denial could we earn money that 
would be acceptable to the Lord. By going with- 
out butter, a real deprivation to me, mother gave 
us five cents a week, and many times all of mine 
went into the contribution box. Or we might eat 
butter once a day and earn three cents a week. On 
company occasions we received special dispensa- 
tion, and ate as much butter as we wished. 
Nothing could have been simpler as well as more 
nourishing and generous than our table. Milk we 
had in abundance from our own cow, always a good 
one, generally a Jersey, and often mother churned 
a little butter. It was part of my duty to drive 
the cow to pasture every morning and go after her 

at night. Once a drunken mill-hand caught me 



at the bars, held me in his arms, and kissed me all 
over my face, until I delivered a blow on his nose 
which made him release his hold. I went on up 
the road, still after the cow which had started 
for the *' upper bars.'* There, hiding myself, 
I watched till I saw the man go away. It was 
early on a winter morning, and my feet almost 
froze before I could get home, crying bitterly. 
This was the only time in my childhood or girlhood 
in which I was frightened by a tramp or mill-hand. 
After that I never went alone, and generally one 
of our numerous chore-boys or father drove the 
cow. It was considered perfectly safe for us to 
go anjrwhere alone. My father tried hard to get 
from me a description of the wretch who, even 
when drtmk, would catch and ill-use a child of 
nine or ten years old, but he was not to be found. 
I knew that his breath smelt horrible of liquor, but 
as to the rest I was vague. I wonder now, that I 
was able to take down and put up the pasture bars 
at so young an age, but I was large and strong for 
my years. The pasture belonged to my father, and 
adjoined the cemetery. It was a pretty place, 
with the river on one side, large trees and many 
flowers growing there. 

At ten o'clock we children were given a lunch- 
eon, generally a glass of milk and a cooky or a 


doughnut. If huckleberries were in season a big 
spoonful was dropped into the milk, and these, in 
order to prolong the delicious repast, we ate one by 
one speared on a long pin. 

Por dinner, at noon, we often, in summer, had 
five or six vegetables picked fresh from our garden, 
with alittle meat. Our tea, at six, was of warm bis- 
cuit or plain bread, with honey or some preserved 
fruit. Some warm dish was pro vided as of creamed 
codfish, hash or eggs, and cottage cheese. Sun- 
days we always had cake for tea, made on Satur- 
day. I was fond of the good things of the woods 
and supplemented my meals with sassafras root, 
birch bark, wintergreen leaves and berries, flag- 
root, wild raspberries, and other small fruits. 
Great was the time for huckleberries of which many 
grew in fields far and near. We would take our 
Itmcheons and ride two or three miles to the berry 
pasture, where we would spend the day and have a 
glorious time. At five the wagon would come and 
take us home. By that time we would have our 
pails full, besides having eaten a quart or two. 
Generally an older boy or girl went with us, but 
many times I was the eldest of the party, and I felt 
my responsibility keenly. I seem always to have 
had the care of younger children, and to have been 
trusted with our own and those of the neighbors. 

Hr. Webb, Miuionaij from HadimB 


I drove our horse without any sense of fear from 
the time when I was-ebout ten years old. I was 
starting for a long djtv^ -one morning, and asked 
father the way. "Havfi^pWa tongue in your 
head?" asked father. "Yes*£r;'''«aid I. "Well, 
use it, " was the injunction. 

He sent me, once, to the station in Vemon", four 
miles away, before the branch railroad extendedip /^ 
our village. The snow was heavy on the ground, 
and I took the sleigh, to meet a missionary and 
bring him to our house. The train was late, and 
while waiting, my horse grew restless, and my 
feet became cold. At last he came, poor man, 
from India, to whom our severe climate must 
have been deadly. I tucked him up with the 
buffalo robe and started for home. The horse 
went like the wind over the frozen, well-trodden 
roads. Very stupidly I missed the right way, and 
ran off on a side road where the snow was scarcely 
broken. We came near upsetting. The mission- 
ary's teeth chattered. My fingers were numb, 
so that they could scarcely control the horse. 

Finally I stopx>ed and said I must inquire my 
way at a near-by farmhouse, where I saw a light. 
I asked my passenger to hold the reins. He 
decUned, being in terror of my restless steed. He 
went himself, plowing through the snow, obtained 


the desired information, and regaining my sense 
of direction, we drove on. -When we dashed up to 
the house, about ten otio<*k' at night, my hands 
had lost all power ^f^ control, and father had to 
come out and unclasp my nearly frozen fingers. 
The hoise had gone straight to the bam and was 
pawing impatiently to be let in. 
• - -.The missionary and I thawed slowly, and were 
none the worse for our cold, night ride. 

This man talked with me about going as a mis- 
sionary to India when I should be old enough, and 
from this time I began to consider myself as prom- 
ised to that field. For Mr. Webb was a dear, 
sweet man, and impressed himself and his work 
strongly upon me. My mother's sister, Mrs. 
Lydia Hale Devan, was the first lady Baptist 
missionary to China who died at her post. She 
survived the long and terrible voyage in a sailing 
vessel of several months, — steamers being then 
unknown — only two years, and died away from 
her family, after which her husband came to this 
country. He had been more in love with his wife 
than with the Heathen Chinee, and went to the 
foreign field only because Lydia would not marry 
him otherwise. It may have been one reason 
why our parents were so devoted to the missionary 

Mrs. Lf dia Hale Devan, Missionaij to China 

Piom an old di|;acrreotype 



The cherry season was the best time of the year. 
I climbed high into the big trees, sat on the 
branches and ate, literally, by the quart. I often 
gloried in the ntmiber of ''stones" that I swal- 
lowed, appendicitis having no terrors for me. I 
was very careful about poisonous fruits, eating 
those only which I knew to be safe. Toadstools 
I never touched. Julia warned me against them, 
and added that the fairies danced on toadstools. 
I often examined them with care, for traces 
of these tiny revels, and I hoped for a glance 
at the wee folk themselves. When I found them 
not, I said, "Of course not, for if they danced 
in my presence they would not be fairies, since no 
mortal eyes have seen fairies. " Julia said, what I 
firmly believed, that as soon as I disappeared they 
came out and danced on their platform. So I was 
careful never to destroy a toadstool. 

Toads I thought ugly but interesting, and I often 

caught them and held them in my hand. One day 



Julia told me that toads produced warts. I had 
three or four of those disfiguring appendages on my 
hands and from that time I never touched a toad, 
but played with them, keeping them in deep holes 
dug in the ground. I had one especially large and 
troublesome wart on my forefinger. I had applied 
nitrate of silver, and it only made my finger sore, 
and the wart black. Going to Julia, as usual with 
my difficulties, she directed me to get out of bed 
when the moon was full, go into the garden, pick a 
bean, rub my warts with it, then bury it wheite no 
one should know. I must forget the spot myself. 
I carried out the prescription to the letter. Slip- 
ping out of bed and softly stealing out of the door, 
— my father was still up, reading a book, — I went 


to the garden, opened a bean-pod, rubbed a bean 
vigorously over the warts, and buried it. I forgot 
about the occurrence for a few days until Julia 
asked where my warts were. To my great sur- 
prise, not one was to be seen, and my fingers 
remained perfectly smooth from that time. They 
had all mysteriously disappeared, and for years I 
was a firm believer in Julia's remedy. I do not 
explain it, but relate it for an absolute fact. Julia 
told me at the time to tell no one, as the warts 
might come back. She and I were the only 
possessors of this delightful secret. 


Was this an illustration of **the influence of mind 
over matter"? The curious thing about it was 
that I had not noticed the absence of the warts 
until Julia called my attention to it. I never 
knew whether they disappeared gradually or all 
at once. 

I suffered greatly, in those days like most 
children, from chilblains. They were supposed 
to be inevitable, and came, perhaps, from wet 
snow, our feet not being always properly pro- 
tected. Mattie and I had high boots, like those 
which boys wore for winter, and we had rubber 
boots for deep snow. Rubber shoes, I cannot re- 
member that we had. We wore close-fitting hoods 
in cold weather, also tippets and mittens knitted 
by mother, with good, warm coats. The boys of 
those days knew nothing of overcoats. With 
caps, tippets, and mittens they braved the coldest 
weather. In summer we girls wore sunbonnets 
and pantalettes. The latter were buttoned to 
underdrawers, white on Sundays, nankeen on 



My father kept bees, and some of the honey, as 
that made in apple-blossom time, was delicious. 
Father was mightily afraid of bees, but often 
had to hive the swarms himself. Usually, Mr. 
Hurlbut, a neighbor, hived them for us, and he 
was an expert. He had no fear, but would thrust 
his hand into the mass of crawling things and let 
them walk all over his hands and arms with never 
a sting. Father would put on a veil, gloves, tie his 
trousers over thick boots, and even then would get 
badly stung. Many a time I have stayed home 
from church to watch a hive which was nearly 
ready to swarm, in order to follow the young bees 
at a safe distance and see where they alighted. 
This would, usually, be upon a low branch of 
one of our apple trees. Then, when father came 
home, we would spread a sheet upon the ground, 
place a clean, empty hive over it, and shake the 
branch vigorously. Or we would strike the branch 



heavy blows with an axe. It was great fun to 
see the insects drop and run fast into their new 
home. I learned about queen bees, and some- 
times could distinguish them from the other bees, 
by their size. I have often stood with father 
back of the apiary and watched the busy work- 
ers making honeycomb. Once our horse, Billy, 
grazing near the hives, happened to kick one 
of them. Instantly the angry creatures came 
fljring out, red-hot with thoughts of vengeance. 
At first Billy regarded them with mild astonish- 
ment, then clothing himself with wings swifter 
than those of Pegasus, he ran miles into the 
country. He must, actually, have outrun the 
bees, for soon they quieted down, and Billy came 
home, a sadder and a wiser horse. Never again 
could he be induced to go around that side of the 
house, and the only time he ran away and smashed 
the buggy, was when father attempted, for some 
reason, to drive him there. Billy was a remark- 
able animal. He used to turn in his stall, with his 
mouth press down the tongue of the latch of the 
stable door, push the door open, and walk into the 
yard. Then he would drink from the sunken 
half-hogshead, stay awhile, and walk back to his 
stall. Father turned the tongue of the latch 
about, putting it on the outside. Billy lifted the 


latch and obtained his liberty. After that father 
let him do as he pleased. He said so much intelli- 
gence deserved reward. Billy died at the ripe 
old age of about twenty-eight, well cared for until 
the last, put on pasture and given no work to do. 
Father had other and always good horses. He 
loved driving, and I shared in this pleasure. He 
and I went many stanmer days in the buggy, and 
winter afternoons in the sleigh. We took in all 
the country around, climbing hiUs and stopping 
for the views which were fine, thus visiting, when 
father had business, or merely for pleasure, Elling- 
ton, Tolland, Coventry, Bolton, Manchester, and 
other towns. Sometimes we carried our lunch and 
were gone all day. Often we took the big wagon 
and the family went on an excursion to Enfield, 
where the Shakers served good dinners, or to 
Springfield, or even to Hartford for shopping. The 
ride around Snipsic Lake was our favorite, and 
then we would stop at the small cabin of Sarah, 
an old Indian woman, who was credited with more 
than worldly wisdom (Julia said that she could 
read my very thoughts), leaving her papers and 
magazines or something from our garden. She came 
to our house sometimes selling dandelion greens or 
cowslips, (marsh marigolds), I was rather afraid of 
her. There was an old cedar tree on one of our rides, 


under which father would stop and take oflf his hat 
with a formal bow, a tribute to its antiquity. He 
would then tell us stories of what might have 
happened when wild Indians roved these hills 
and valleys. Perhaps in a nearby field there 
would be a cow with a board fastened across her 
horns. Father would say: "See what an un- 
comfortable thing it is to have a bad reputation. 
That cow is almost blinded by the board, and 
it is heavy for her to carry around. But she has 
a bad reputation, that of jumping fences and 
getting into somebody's com, and so she has 
to be punished. Perhaps she is quite cured of 
jumping fences now, but nobody knows whether 
she is or not, because she has a bad reputation." 

It was while driving with father that, very 
young, I learned to hold the reins and drive, and 
I could harness and saddle a horse while still so 
small that I had to stand on a box to reach his 
back. When a few years older, in my early teens, 
I often rode horseback ten or twelve miles, alone, 
before breakfast. Those were deUghtful excur- 
sions, when I would get up at four, saddle my own 
horse, and ride away with an easy canter, listening 
to the early birds, finding flowers which I slid 
from my horse to pluck. I would leave the horse 
unhitched, and when ready, would spring from 


the ground to the saddle. Usually Nellie, a gentle 
mare, would wait for me. Once, in pure mis- 
chief, she walked slowly towards home, leaving me 
to follow angry and tired. In those days we wore 
a long riding skirt, and it was no easy matter to 
walk and hold it out of the dust. When Nellie's 
frolicsome mood was over, she stopped and 
allowed me to jump on her back. After that she 
was fastened when I went after flowers or branches. 
On a winter's evening what a comfortable sound 
the animals made mtmching their suppers which 
father prepared while I held the lantern! He 
always cut the hay, sprinkled it generously with 
meal, threw in water, and thoroughly mixed all 
with a big fork. Then he shoveled it into the 
mangers, the horse and cow stamping and poking 
their noses out, impatiently expectant. After- 
wards we made all tight and locked the bam, pass- 
ing through a covered way to the house. Father 
said he could not sleep if he did not know the 
animals were all right. What sweet smells came 
from that loft of hay! It was mostly our own, 
cut from our pastures. In mild weather I often 
studied my lessons or read a book, half buried in 
the hay. 



My father was devoted to the happiness of his 
children, and among other things for us to play 
with, made us a ''see-saw." .This often had 
three or four boys and girls seated at each end and 
one brave spirit balancing in the middle by step- 
ping to one side or the other. We rose and fell 
eight or ten feet in the air, and as the heavy board 
had a raised back at each end, there was little 
danger of our falling off. If we did I cannot 
remember that we ever seriously hurt ourselves. 
Our favorite playhouse was the arbor, an eight- 
sided structure with broad seats and four wide 
entrances. The whole between and over the en- 
trance spaces, was latticed and formed excellent 
ladders. We used to climb to the lattice above 
the entrances whence we walked around the whole 
arbor or jumped from the heights. This was a 
thrilling thing to do, but I never took a dare from 

the boys and many times I jumped from just one 



round higher than Harry Hunt, our neighbor, 
who, ** stumped" me. My feet stung and my 
head throbbed, but doubtless Harry's did too. 

It was within this arbor that father arranged 
for me a May-day party. We girls used to cele- 
brate the first day of May by twining baskets 
of yoimg willow twigs, filling them with trailing 
arbutus which grew plentifully, near us, and hang 
them during the evening, on the doors of the boys' 
houses. The game was to ring the bell and run. 
If the boy found the basket (and he was generally 
on the alert), he might chase the giver, and if he 
caught her it was allowable to kiss her. She ran, 
of course, but frequently got no farther than the 
bushes in the yard, where she was liable to be 
caught. This one May-day party remains vivid 
in my memory. Father proposed it instead of the 
kissing game of which he and mother disapproved. 
The prettiest girl among us was chosen to be 
our queen. She had blue eyes, tight blonde curls 
which were the despair of the rest of us, a soft pink 
and white complexion. By means of her beauty 
this girl ruled us all, we simply being eager to 
do her will. Her discipline consisted of the fate- 
ful words, "You mean thing! I will never play 
with you again as long as I live." One thus 
banished from her favor was neglected by the 


other girls, and felt alone and unhappy. It is 
strange how children adore beauty and submit to 
the spoiled one's whims. I must admit, however, 
that Louisa's rule was gentle, for she was as ami- 
able as she was pretty, and so far as I remember, 
just. She had a bright younger sister who played 
with us, although she was nearer Mattie's age than 
Louisa's and mine. One other girl, tall and com- 
manding, a brunette, with black, straight hair, 
shared the supremacy with Louisa. She had a 
stately carriage and was good in her studies which 
counted for much. She lived near me and we 
were intimate friends for years. On this occasion, 
Annie and I were the maids of honor, our duty 
being to walk beside the queen and hold up her 
long veil. I, being the hostess, had the right to 
choose my place in the pageant. It never occurred 
to me to be the queen, because I was neither pretty 
nor popular. When I complained to mother that I 
was not pretty, she said that I ought to thank God 
for that, as it preserved me from many temptations. 
I cannot remember that I felt the gratitude which 
my mother recommended. My looks were those 
of a wide-awake, healthy giri who cared naught for 
her complexion, and seldom wore her sunbonnet. 
My hair, for a few years allowed to curl, was then 
cut and kept short, with mother for the tonsorial 


artist. I always longed for curls and used to make 
them out of shavings or dandelion stems, and 
stick my round comb full of them, so that when 
decorated, I must have looked like an Indian. As 
to being a favorite, I was too eager to have my 
own way to care for the desires of others. As for 
being politic, I did not know the meaning of the 
word. No, I was not popular in school, nor in 
play, and I often sulked about this and went away 
by myself. I once overheard father say: **What 
Carol wants to do, it is almost impossible to 
turn her from. Her mother and I let her do things 
of which we do not approve, simply because we 
dread the conflict with her will." The fact was, 
dear father could be coaxed to almost any extent, 
and mother had to be the disciplinarian. When 
she finally said no, we submitted without further 
argument. I used to beg her, ** Mother, think 
before you say anything. *' 

The May-day party was a success. After the 
ceremony of crowning the queen, accompanied 
with music and dialogue, improvised by father, 
we walked in procession (there were twenty or 
thirty of us) to the foot of the hill, to the **pond, ** 
just above my father's mills. In this sheet of 
water a small island lay, covered with hazel-nut 
bushes, spring flowers, and a few oak trees. To 


this island father ferried us with a small boat. 
We seated our queen upon a throne of boughs 
which father cut for us, and partook of a picnic 
luncheon which mother had put up. Then we 
played and had a good time. Father often played 
with us, assuming a character, as of a soldier or 
captain of a ship. 



I CANNOT remember that Christmas was observed 
in our family while I was a child. It savored too 
much of popery. But the night before the New 
Year we hung up our stockings, and found, in the 
morning, a few gifts bunching them out, such as a 
silver piece in the toe, an apple, pop-corn and 
candy. If such articles were needed, shoes or aprons 
were added, and once I had a fine sled, while later 
both of us girls had skates. The legend of Santa 
Claus, we were told, was a sort of fairy story which 
we were cautioned not to believe. We therefore 
never watched the chimney for the descent of the 
dear old saint with his reindeers. We had an ideal, 
open, wood fire-place which would have fitted 
beautifully into the tale, and I often wished it were 
true. I had a way of making believe, and, men- 
tally, acting out things which I knew were not 
true, and so half satisfying my love of the mar- 
velous and romantic. A wood fire was one of 



father's fads, and nobody cotild plant the back 
log as carefully as he, and cover with ashes so 
that it would last all day. In the evenings we 
children popped com and roasted chestnuts among 
the ashes, listening to father's stories, meanwhile. 
He told us of Washington and Revolutionary times 
speaking of the great leader with the utmost 

Once, my parents being away for the evening, I 
tried to be useful and covered up the fire with 
ashes. Then, to make it look nice, I got out 
the summer fire-board, and fitted it carefully into 
its place. I took great credit to myself for this, 
and was astonished, in the morning, to be told 
that I had nearly set the house on fire, my father 
and mother coming home just in time to pull away 
the blazing board and throw it out of the door. 
Had they been an hour later, probably nothing 
could have saved the house. Then I had my 
first lesson on what makes a fire biun, and I saw 
how the board cover had sucked in the air from 
below, ignited the slumbering ashes, and started 
a fire. 

Thanksgiving was our day of days. We always 
had company or went out to dinner on that day of 
royal feasting. There was one family with whom 
we united, more often at our house, for mother had 


help, while * * Cousm Abby * * had not. The minister 
and his family were generally included among the 
guests. Great and exciting preparations were 
begun days in advance. I stoned raisins, beat up 
eggs, helped to stir the cake and make the mince 
and pumpkin pies. We also had EngUsh plum 
pudding. On Thanksgiving Day, father took the 
sleigh if snow was on the ground, otherwise the 
buggy, and drove to some houses of poor families, 
leaving a chicken with a bunch of celery and other 
vegetables. He had seen to it before that these 
people had wood or coal. On these delightful oc- 
casions, I often went with him to hold the horse 
while he delivered the basket. Among other recipi- 
ents of father's bounty were the inmates of the poor- 
house, some of whom he knew personally. When 
mother made her cranberry jelly, she often made a 
big mould for the county's poor, and a pie or a 
loaf of cake to help out their Thanksgiving. Ar- 
rived at home, and having given extra dinners 
to the bam animals, we feasted on savory smells 
until two o'clock when dinner was served. Of 
course father had attended the union service in one 
of our village churches, mother and I generally 
staying at home in order to prepare the dinner. 
Such turkeys for size and tenderness! Pather 
bought from a farmer who gave us the largest and 


best he had. It was always perfectly cooked with 
just the right '* stuffing. " Scalloped oysters, 
chicken pie and salad, mashed potatoes and other 
vegetables, all were put on the table together and 
heaped on the plates. Father used to measure 
our height and weigh us before and after dinner. 
The weighing machine was provided by a store at 
the foot of the hill which was open a short time in 
the afternoon for a few loungers who, seated upon 
barrels, smoked after-dinner pipes. In the evening 
we roasted apples before the fire which was roused 
to its best, cracked nuts, and played blindman's 
buflf. Father would try to peep out from under 
the handkerchief, when with much laughter we 
tied it tighter. A long season of family worship 
appropriately finished the day, during which I 
generally fell asleep and had to be carried to bed. 
After a few years donations of fruits and vegetables 
were taken to the church, piled around the pulpit 
stairs, and given, the best to our minister, the 
rest to the village poor. 

I find, among the old papers a ** program" for 
Thanksgiving, written by myself, dated Nov. 
25, 1852, **For J. N. Stickney's family. " It reads 
thus: (I copy verbatim) 

1 Arrange Toilet. 

2 Bam work, by father. 








Family Worship 




Rehearse music 


Attend church 




Mother's story 



Carol and Mattie 






Father and mother 


Blind mans Buff 

In this connection I may quote a "toast" of 
mother's for the Fourth of July. It illustrates her 
quiet humor. It is written in her fine, delicate 
penmanship, almost undecipherable now, the paper 
on which it was written being so yellow with age. 
There is no date. 

The memory of the man 

That owned the land 

That raised the com 

That fed the goose 

That bore the quill 

That made the pen 

That wrote the Declaration of Independence. 



The usual Past day, in April, proclaimed by the 
Governor of Connecticut on the Good Friday of 
the Episcopal churches, was a source of comfort 
to my soul. The year that I was nine years old, I 
announced that I was going to keep Fast day. 
Mother said nothing. I refused the breakfast 
that was prepared for the children, and after 
family prayers, retired to my room to spend the 
day in prayer, meditation, and fasting. I stuck to 
it for an hour, then the beautiful out-of-doors 
called me irresistibly. I remembered that one 
could worship anywhere, under a tree as well as 
in one's "closet." I closed my Bible and stole 
downstairs. At first I walked solemnly about, 
then played with the other children, and forgot 
about the sacred character of the day. By noon 
my appetite was frightful. I threw good resolu- 
tions to the wind, and ate the comfortable dinner 
provided for us. I felt guilty, but mother said that 



I had done very well, and tjiat children were not 
expected to keep a fast as it might hurt their 
health. She encouraged me to run about and 
play all afternoon. 

About this timQ I began to get very religious. I 
use this expression advisedly, for I played just as 
hard and foimd just as much enjoyment in life 
as before. It was a hymn that first woke me up 
about my soul. 

A charge to keep I have; 

A God to glorify. 
A never-dying soul to save 

And fit it for the sky. 

Letters written when I was eight and nine years 
old show evidences of growing piety. Several of 
these have been preserved and were foimd, after 
my father's death, in a note-book which he carried 
in his coat pocket. The blessed man had treasured 
them, worthless pieces of paper, because they were 
written by his beloved eldest daughter. I give 
them exactly as they were written, spelling, 
pimctuation, and capital letters. There are few 
mistakes in spelling, as children were well drilled in 
those days, in Webster's Spelling Book, but of 
pimctuation I had no idea. I was visiting my 
aunts in Staten Island, with mother, when I wrote 
to my sister under the date of October 20, 1852. 


Dear sister. 

My father's letter says that you shall have a few 
lines from me and indeed they are a few. I am now at 
statem island, and our chestnuts are all gone do you 
have many at home. Well save some for I dont 
have many here, but I have sweet potatoes and I 
should like to bring you a bushel. I suppose you think 
of mother and me often, I think of you and sometimes 
I am ready to cry aloud and really wish to be at home, 
ah happy home, where can be found a place like thee. 
I mean to learn the verses of home again when I am 
realy in that place for I find they are perfectly true, 
sister my happiest hours are in a place where no one is 
and think of home sweet home or take a testament and 
read of jesus christ and then kneel and pray to him, 
and I pray for thee that thou mayest have a new heart. 
I think I have obtained that. I often find comfort 
from prayer and if you would pray with your whole 
heart you would often find comfort when you could 
find it nowhere else. But here comes Louisa and says 
I must take a walk, so good bye. 

After reaching home, I wrote to my cousin 
Louisa Hale of Staten Island. 

My dear cousin. I beUeve I have not answered the 
letter you sent me a while ago, excuse me for I seem to 
like to play and ramble in the fields better than write. 

This summer has been unusually pleasant, it has 
not been very warm neither cold, but just right, in the 
spring however, it was quite cold after mother planted 
her seeds not one came up. 

I suppose you know that we have a little sister she is 
now five months old and weighs 19 pounds. She is 


very heavy healthy and fat My brother is very 
wayward fat and healthy but not so fat as his sister. 
Mattie is 6 years old, lisps a little and in general is a 
good natured girl. 

I am the oldest and last. I am very well and would 
like to know if you are too. I suppose you go to 
school but I dont. Give my love to grandma. 

My mother's garden which is referred to in the 
above letter was a source of great pleasure to her 
and to the many neighbors who received from it 
floral gifts. A yellow Harrison rose grew near the 
entrance porch, not far from a sweetbriar rose. A 
climbing red rose, boorsault, I believe it was 
called, also a queen of the prairie, and a Baltimore 
belle encircled the veranda posts. "Jack" rosesand 
the old-fashioned blush were scattered here and 
there along the top of the terrace. A flower bed 
over which mother spent much time with trowel 
and small rake extended the whole way along the 
terrace. Here were daffodils and clumps of iris, 
together with a large variety of annuals, the seeds 
of which in this one cold spring failed to come up. 
Mignonette, monkshoods, zinnias, marigolds, lark- 
spurs, coltimbines, and pinks I distinctly remember. 
A flowering almond and a twin honeysuckle were in 
another bed at the side of the house which was de- 
voted to shrubs. Here were also two or three fine 
lilacs, including a white and a Persian. In the early 


spring tulips came up, yellow and red. Once, with 
considerable ceremony, mother stuck a twig of 
weeping willow into the ground. It grew into a 
large tree and was always called mother's willow. 

The following is part of a letter written that 
same summer, of 1852, to my father who had gone 
to New Orleans on business and for his health. 
He had had a severe attack of inflammatory 

My dear father, 

I was very glad that you had such a nice time at 
New Orleans we have got 7 little chickens. We took a 
walk up Fox hill and saw a good many flowers. We 
have got a bossy calf. I went to the concert, (mis- 
sionary concert) last Sunday and I will tell you the 
stories, there was a little girl that went out very 
early one beautiful day and saw the dew on the grass 
and it looked beautiful and in the afternoon it was all 
gone and she asked her father where they were and 
he said they had gone up in the clouds, but at evening 
he called her to look at her drops, and she saw a rain- 
bow. A little boy was flying his kite one very dark 
evening when his teacher came up and asked him 
what he was doing, and he told her he was flying a 
kite and the teacher said he could not see any kite but 
he felt it pull. 

In the fall of that year I began to go to school. 
I think the first year the school was held in a house 
on the comer, opposite the hotel, upstairs, and 


Miss Manning was the teacher. Later a drug- 
store occupied that building. The brick building 
on School Street was then in course of erection 
and was ready for occupation the following year. 
I do not remember in which school the following 
essay was written and read before the school, but 
it was in the year 1853, when I was ten years old. 


May is one of the months of the year and a beautiful 
one it is. It has many pleasures some of which I will 
name, it has many flowers and children love to pick 
them. The grass is generally green and the great oak 
trees make a beautiful shade, the lambs also are 
gamboling and playing. We hear and see birds, some 
are blue, some red and some all colors it is a beautiful 
sight to see flowers peeping through the garden fences. 
There is a great variety of colors and they look more 
lively than if they were all of one color. Sometimes 
we have a beautiful shower and then a rainbow then 
the flowers look fresh, the grass looks greener and the 
trees hang with shining drops, the spring of water 
gives us beautiful drinks which refresh us. Ought 
we not to be thankful for so many pleasures? I think 
so. Let us all try to do good since God does so much 
to make us happy. 



My first really great affliction came with the 

death of my little sister Lizzie, when I was nearly 

nine years old. She was a winsome, happy little 

cherub, sweet of face, dainty and fairy-like in 

her ways, and she gladdened us with her presence 

for sixteen months. On a Saturday which I 

well remember, she was running and playing out 

of doors, the picture of health, while I watched 

her from a window where I sat sewing. The 

following day she sickened, and in the night of 

Wednesday, mother called me from my bed to 

see my sister for the last time. I had loved her so, 

and mother thought it well thus early, to impress 

my mind with serious things. Cholera infanttmi 

had wrecked this little life. In the sitting-room 

my father sat, holding the baby on a pillow in his 

lap. Tears were falling down his face. Mother 

was silently crying. The doctor, our warm, 

personal friend, was leaning his elbow on the man- 



tel, his head turned away, and he too was weeping. 
Only the baby was still and calm, and the room was 
very quiet. Father said : ' * Take a last look at your 
little sister, for God is calling her to Himself, and 
the angel messenger is already here." I looked 
at the ceiling to see the angel messenger, but he 
was invisible. I do not think I cried. I was too 
frightened and awe-struck. I had known my 
baby was very ill, but had not thought she would 
really leave us. And now, she took no notice 
of me who could always bring a smile to her face. 
Soon mother led me away although I begged to 
stay. In my own room I fell upon my knees and 
prayed passionately that God would call his 
messenger back and let Lizzie get well. Then 
comforted, I got into bed and slept. Waking 
early in the morning, the house was dreadfully 
still, and with foreboding, I crept downstairs. 
Lying in her crib was the marble-like form of my 
little sister. With a scream I fell unconscious 
to the floor. I remember nothing of what followed . 
Mother told me afterward, that I was ill in bed 
for some days, and did not know of the funeral. 
When at last, my strength came back, I arose 
and went about listless and uninterested. The 
truth was, that not only was I terribly stricken 
with the loss of my darling, but that God had not 


heard my prayer and I no longer believed in what 
was called **the power of prayer." There must 
come a time in the life of every thinking and 
observing person, — ^it came early to me — when we 
realize that the world is governed by fixed laws, 
even in matters of life and death, and that our 
selfish and puny petitions have no effect upon the 
natural result. It is fortunate that we cannot turn 
the Almighty's blessed order into confusion. It is 
unfortunate that right views, consistent with the 
dignity of the Rtder of the Universe, and the habit 
of prayer, cannot be given to children, so that they 
shall not be surprised into distrust, when the 
sharp lessons of experience are learned. That 
view of the New Testament teaching which says 
that every prayer shall be answered, if only prayed 
fervently enough and with many repetitions, is 
pernicious. Prayer is communion between the 
heart of the great Unseen Spirit and our souls. 
It is not mainly comprised of requests, which often 
are childish and superstitious. Prayer is the get- 
ting acquainted with God. 

When mother discovered my state of mind, she 
talked gently with me about the grief shared by us 
both, about the sin of rebellion against God's will, 
and the necessity of perfect resignation to that 
will. She said that some day we would under- 


stand all His ways which were dark to us now. It 
brought us very near to each other. Gradually I 
came to feel as she wished me to. All this hap- 
pened before I united with the church, and was, 
perhaps, more than anything else, a factor in the 
intense reKgious experience which I shall attempt 
to describe in the following pages. 



In the spring after Lizzie's death, unknown to 
mother, I called upon our pastor, told him of my 
longing to be a Christian, and asked him to pray 
with me. He did so, and he said that if my par- 
ents were willing I might come into the church. 
They, however, wished me to wait a year, rightly 
thinking that I was too young to imderstand the 
real meaning of the step I thought I was ready to 
take. Perhaps too, they discovered in my reli- 
gious aspirations a sense of the importance I might 
assume in being a conspicuous example of early 
piety. I think that, quite unconsciously, such a 
motive may have influenced me, especially as I 
recall that I told father I was sorry I had been 
baptized in infancy, as I would prefer to be now 
immersed. I wanted to be thorough. One thing 
that they did not discover was, that somehow, 
within the **fold, " I felt that I would be safer than 
if I remained longer without, and this thought 



influenced me strongly. I waited a year, however, 
and then was permitted to have my wish. The 
next May, before I had completed my eleventh 
year, I walked up the church aisle alone, and 
responded audibly to the questions asked, "in the 
sight of God, angels, and men." I did not feel 
timid or reluctant, because I had worked myself 
up into a state of exaltation which made me 
oblivious of the congregation. 

Before meeting with the committee, father asked 
me to write a consecration of my whole life to God, 
adding a prayer that I might keep my church vows. 
He left me in a room alone to do this. I had no 
more idea what to write than a baby, but inmaedi- 
ately there was the temptation to put on paper 
something very fine. Seeing Doddridge's Rise and 
Progress in the book-case, I opened it and foimd 
two consecrations for yoimg converts. The first 
was much too long. So I copied the second, alter- 
ing here and there a word as I could without chang- 
ing the sense. I had not intended to pass this off 
as my own composition, but when father took it for 
that I let it stand. Seeing Doddridge lying on the 
table, he said : * * I see that you have f otmd help in 
this. You could not do better.** He turned 
to the two consecrations, and made me read miae 
while he compared it with first the one, then the 


other. I said that I had partly copied the shorter 
one because it expressed my feelings better than 
anything I coiild have have written myself. He 
agreed that I would do well to live up to those 
words. I think he secretly admired my cleverness 
in finding a way out of a situation that he had made 
too hard for me. Father showed it to the minis- 
ter, adding that I had taken it mostly from the 
Rise and Progress, I was rather uncomfortable 
about this act, and felt that it was not appropriate 
to my tmion with the church, and soon after my 
admission destroyed my consecration. 

The committee before whom I went to be 
examined for fitness for the step I was about to 
take, consisted of the minister, father, another 
deacon, and two other men whom I have for- 
gotten. It was an ordeal which, I think, the 
committee found more embarrassing than I. 
Deacon Johnson asked me to relate the story of 
my conversion. I was confused and answered 
that I did not know when I was converted. My 
pastor endorsed this and added that it was the 
best kind of conversion when a child did not 
know when her religious life began; that I was, 
in fact, one of the Lord's little ones consecrated 
to God's service before my birth, who, by means 
of godly training and early developed conscien- 


tiousness cotdd point to no moment of my life 
when my own will had not been in complete ac- 
cord with the Heavenly Father's. A few questions 
about what was in the church manual (which 
I had been instructed carefully to read), and I 
was admitted. For a time after this, I went 
about very serious and partly absorbed. I lec- 
tured my schoolmates about their duty, but soon 
the barrier of church membership between them 
and me melted away in the play of recesses and 
holidays, and my natural vivacity reasserted 
itself in the healthy processes of growth and 



In trying to analyze my religious state at this 
time, if a child of ten years can be said to have a 
religious state, I find my conceptions due, mainly, 
to the teaching of the day, which tended to culti- 
vate the introspective faculty, and which con- 
stantly emphasized personal responsibility. A 
religion of fear and a rigid sense of duty domin- 
ated inclination and even emotion. One could 
not help sinning and all sin would be found out in 
the next world if not in this. Faith was the only 
thing that counted and faith was so difiScult to un- 
derstand. It seemed to be a voluntary act, yet 
was said to be God's gift. Our sins prevented us 
from exercising it. If it could be worked out like a 
problem in arithmetic, I would have been willing 
to take infinite pains to find the answer. I once 
asked father what faith was, and he tried to explain. 
I had read in a Sunday-school book of a girl who 
asked her father that question and he took her 



to the top of the cellar stairs while he went to the 
bottom. He then called upon her to jump. **It 
is all dark," she said; *'I don't dare to jump." 
"Jump, my daughter," he commanded, and she 
gathered up her courage and jumped. He caught 
her in his arms and then told her that hers was an 
act of faith. I hoped that my father would illus- 
trate, in some such thrilling manner, faith, to me. 
I was no wiser after his verbal definition, although 
surely that was not his fatdt. 

Father gave me for a daily motto, the verse, 
"Thou God seest me." This became so vivid 
that, often in the midst of my romps and plays, I 
would suddenly think of that great eye fixed upon 
me, and would cease my play, go off by myself 
and ask myself in much disquiet, whether I had 
done or said any wrong thing. I remembered 
the prisoner who was placed in a cell with a 
hole in it through which an eye always looked. 
He was made insane by the awful punishment. In 
the Ten Commandments which I learned early and 
often repeated, it was said that God was "a jealous 
God, visiting the sins of the fathers upon the chil- 
dren unto the third and fourth generation." I 
asked my mother if I had to be punished for my 
grandparents' sins. She said, in my case, I had 
such good grandparents on both father's and 


mother's sides that I need not be troubled. My 
own shortcomings were enough for me to look 
out for. She added that parents and grandparents 
ought to be especially careful not to sin, as she had 
no doubt their descendants suffered from such 
sins. If a man got drunk they might also want 
to drink; or if he stole and was put in jail not only 
would his family suffer for want of his support, 
but they also might become thieves, since children 
had a tendency to grow up like their parents. 
This was my first lesson in heredity. 

Of course I was told that we should love God, 
and that ** perfect love casteth out fear.'* After 
a time, not discovering much love in my heart 
for God, I began to doubt my acceptance at the 
** throne of grace," and wished someone would 
speak to me about my soul. During the vacations 
of our pastor, those who came to fill the vacancy 
stayed at our house. I often walked to Sunday 
evening meeting with our guest, the minister, and 
hoped he would become my confessor. One of 
them came near filling that office to me. He 
began, "My dear child,*' — now it is coming, 
I thought delightedly, only how these ministers 
' ' dear child ' ' you. The question came, ' * Have you 
ever thought about your soul's salvation ? ' ' With- 
out premeditation I answered, **0h yes, I joined 


the church last spring." Callously the minister 
said: **0h, I am so glad! How lovely it is to 
see our lambs coming so early into the fold. The 
church needs them. They will be saved many 
temptations which would beset them if they 
waited imtil late. And if all would thus come 
the future of the church would be insured." I 
was angry. He ought to have said: "That is not 
the question, my child. Many church members 
have no right to be there, having never experi- 
enced the true love of God. Is your heart right ? 
Are you among the redeemed who are saved by 
the precious blood of Christ?" That was what 
the minister in the Sunday-school book said to the 
little girl, also a church member, and she burst 
into tears, which I was ready to do, and said, 
as I would have said, ' * Oh, sir, I am afraid I have 
no right to be in the church, for my first love has 
grown cold, and I have no comfort in prayer or 
reading the Bible." After that, he would have 
talked comfortingly to me, and assured me that a 
lively view of my sins was necessary to a beUever 
whose first virtue should be humility, and that he 
was sure that I must be a true child of God. 

But nobody talked to me and I stumbled along 
as best I could. 



Since my infancy I had been troubled with 
enlarged tonsils which, at times, threatened to 
suffocate me. According to the medical practice 
of the day, blisters were produced on my neck by 
the application of a red ointment, also leeches were 
placed over the swollen parts to suck the blood. 
I well remember the worm-like things, from whose 
bodies, after they fell off, gorged, the doctor 
pressed out the blood, putting them in a bottle 
of water for future use. It seems to me we re- 
covered from our ailments and kept well in spite 
of the professors of medicine, rather than with 
their help. Blood-letting had not gone out of 
practice. I once held the basin while my mother 
was bled. Mother praised me, saying that she 
fainted when she was called upon for that service. 
As I never fainted in all my life, I sometimes 
wished I could accomplish that act, gracefully of 
course, when it would have been appropriate to the 



occasion. If there is one thing more than another 
for which we should be most thankful to-day, it is 
for the advance made in practice of medicine, 
surgery, and general sanitation. Disease germs 
had not been discovered then, neither had anti- 
septic surgery come into use. Dentistry and 
all minor operations were performed without 
alleviation of pain, although only a few years 
later "laughing gas" was given by a lecturer to 
my class in natural philosophy in Wheaton Semi- 
nary to those members who cared to try it. I did 
so and danced slowly around the platform to the 
great amusement of other class members. And I 
seem to remember that chloroform was occasion- 
ally used in major operations. Of that I am not 
quite sure. 

From a letter written to my father in August, 
1852, I take this extract: 

I am glad to tell you that both your children are 
better, so you need not come home to-night; I am 
about as well and nothing but the leech bites look 
bad; yesterday Mattie was some better, to-day she is 
better: the doctor still comes to see us and I took a 
ride with him yesterday about as far as two miles on a 
road I never saw before. 

We received your letter and had a little curiosity 
that you should write so soon. 

Mother told me not to write a long letter because she 


should not, I must therefore draw my words to a 
close by saying that the children send their love, and 
as soon as you open it be careful for out will pop four 
kisses and smack you four times each, you must 
know that I made half the love and sent one kiss. 

Your affectionate chicken (as you sometimes call 

Among the letters of this time which have been 
preserved is one from mother to father. In it she 
tells of her struggles to convert her maids from 
the Roman Catholic faith. The feeling then of 
Protestants against Catholics was intense. I am 
sure my mother thought that the souls of her 
maids were committed to her care while they were 
with her, to be saved or lost as she did her duty 
by them. The letter says: 

The priest came yesterday and last night the girls 
went to confession, and after they came back I had a 
long talk with them on the subject, in which they were 
completely used up, and I think have had their 
thoughts set in a new train. I hope it may do them 
some good. But I am sure nothing but the Spirit of 
God can fathom and enlighten such ignorance. I can 
pray for them and sometimes I feel that is all I can do. 

Mother insisted that her maids should come to 
family prayers, but as this interfered with their 
breakfast hour, sometimes she compromised by 
making the rule applicable only on Sunday mom- 


ings. She was taking her maid to church with her 
one Sunday when the priest came up the hill, 
grasped the poor thing who had no voice in the 
matter, by the arm, and marched her down the 
hill to his own church. That morning he gave 
out notice that no one in his parish should Uve in 
service with Mrs. Stickney, and for some time 
after, mother was obliged to obtain her maids 
from her own denomination. The maid in ques- 
. tJon was taken to the priest's house and her 
clothes were sent for. She never came back 
to us. 



The summer of 1853 was a memorable one for 
me, it being the time of my first long visit to New 
York. My aunts and step-grandmother had 
moved from Staten Island to 31st Street, New 
York City. A letter written to father in May of 
that year, just before the visit, says : 

The scarlet fever is round the town and I have 
had it, but I am well enough to go to school this morn- 
ing. . . . I suppose you would like to know how I get 
along with the piano I have learned all perfect that I 
was practising when you went away and half of a 
waltz. Mattie and I take turns sleeping with mother 
now you are gone and like it very well. 

The grass is growing very fast and the birds are 
beginning to sing and everything is so pleasant that I 
think recess is the best part of school, the gooseberrys 
are leaved out finely, and so are the currants, and Mrs 
Roses cherries are blossomed. 

This letter is signed Caroline. About this 
time I felt that a more dignified name than Carol 



(I was nearly ten years old), would suit me better. 
Later, in my teens, I called myself Lina, but that 
name never took very well in the family, and father 
compromised with Carrie which has been my fa- 
miliar name since. In a long correspondence with 
one of my schoolmates who moved to Hartford, 
I called myself Jacob, while she was Ruth. 

The principal reason why I went to New York 
was that my throat remained diseased, and I 
was taken to a surgeon who, with an instrument 
like a pair of scissors, cut off the tonsils and put 
them into a bottle of brandy where they swelled 
like a sponge and appeared most formidable. 
I took no anaesthetic, and sat quiet while first 
one, then the other, was cut. I well remember 
how sore my throat was for some days after, 
but the trouble was cured. Dentistry was also an 
object of the visit, and was well done by Doctor 
Hawes on, I think, Spring Street. After that, 
at the invitation of my aunts, I was left for a 
three months' visit. Mother's youngest half- 
sister was only ten years older than I, and she 
considered herself responsible for much of my 
upbringing. In my thoughts she figured as the 
personification of the world of culture and fashion, 
in short of dashing young ladyhood. I often 
wished I could get rid of my country manners, and 


be stylish, like her! At the beginning of this visit, 
she made for me a plaid, green silk dress, the most 
beautiful thing I had ever seen. I had, also, a 
new parasol, and, to crown all, a pair of gray kid 
gloves. Oh the pleasant smell of those first kid 
gloves! To this day I love gray kids, and their 
scent carries me back to a proud little girl who 
walked the streets of the great city or rode in the 
**bus" to the Battery and back quite alone, dressed 
in green silk and perfectly gloved. As my aunt 
was stud3ring the piano under a German professor, 
it was thought well for me to have a few lessons 
from the same teacher. He smelt of boot-blacking 
and knocked my knuckles with a lead pencil. Once 
I ran from the room and absolutely refused to 
take another lesson. My father continued to be my 
only teacher for many years, and surely a daughter 
might have had a worse. For whatever I did, it 
seemed wonderful to him and he predicted a fine 
musical future for me. Among other delights of 
this visit to New York was a girls* gymnasium, of 
which I became a member and where I performed 
wonderful stunts of juinping and climbing. My 
springboard jimip was considered a quite star per- 
formance, being equaled by none other of the class. 
And I climbed high to the ceiling on all sorts of 
curious ladders, coming down swinging tmdemeath, 



holding on by my hands alone. My free life at 
home had made me an expert in climbing, also at 
swinging on parallel bars, and my muscles were 
well developed. 

There were some matters about which I did not 
need to blush before my city relatives. Our speech 
at home was correct, as our parents were very care- 
ful of their own conversation, allowing no slang or 
ungrammatical talk. Certain common expressions, 
as ''guess" for "think," '*fix" for ''arrange," and 
* ' you know, ' ' disgusted father. He would say, * * No, 
I do not know, and if I did, you would not need to 
tell me." Pather was something of a philosopher, 
and many of his sayings occur to me now and then. 
When we complained of the weather or circum- 
stances generally, he would say, * * Let us be thankful 
that it is no worse with us than it is. ' ' When we said 
that we did not mean to do certain wrong things, 
he would say, ' ' Did you mean not to do it ? " If we 
pleaded lack of time, he would tell us: 'You have 
all the time there is; the President of the United 
States has no more." Pather was a great reader 
and mother had had a girls' seminary education. 
We children had no excuse for being lax in our 
speech or careless in our writing. Pather said that 
mother was ' ' a natural bom speller, ' ' and there was 
no need to refer to a dictionary when she was near. 



The school which I now attended, became an 
important part of my life. In the new high school, 
I was admitted to the youngest class. I sat with 
other small children in the front row of desks. 
These were double and we could choose our seat- 
mates. Back of me sat about one hundred and 
fifty boys and girls, graduated in age and acquire- 
ments to the senior class of which I stood much in 
awe and who occupied the last rows of desks. 

One of our principals had a projecting front 
tooth. His name was Mr. Cannon. A paper 
was written by the seniors and read every Saturday 
morning. Among the jokes was this, *'A tooth 
from the mouth of a cannon. '* This was the occa- 
sion of a dreadful scene. When the offended 
principal inquired who had perpetrated this piece 
of malicious fun, a boy in the rear of the room 
stood and confessed. Mr. Cannon dragged him by 
his coat collar to the front, tore off the boy's coat, 



and began to chastise him furiously. Other boys 
sprang to the rescue and there was a free-for-all 
fight, in which the master was knocked to the floor 
and well potmded. We small children looked on 
much frightened. School was dismissed and Mr. 
Cannon departed with clothes torn and nose bleed- 
ing. He soon left town, the assistant taking his 
place for a short time. It was an era in which 
whipping for small offenses, even failures in recita- 
tions, was the prevalent mode of punishment. The 
master often had to prove his physical superiority 
by overcoming a mob of boys before he could estab- 
lish successful discipline. I have seen boys made to 
stand on one foot for a stated time, while every 
time the culprit dropped his other foot to the floor 
he felt the teacher's whip. The dunce cap was in 
use in my day, and a stupid boy was made to 
wear it, kicking his heels in a comer. 

Mr. Cannon was succeeded by a very popular 
principal, Mr. Strong, kind, gentlemanly, and 
helpful. When the boys liked the teacher there 
was nothing they would not do to help him in his 
discipline. I was once sent to the principal's 
private room, I think, for whispering. I was 
much frightened, but Mr. Strong was very kind 
and only said that I must be a good girl and obey 
the rules, and set a right example, for, he said, we 


all, even so young a child as I, had influence for 
good or ill. I promised and was liberated. Once 
the sweet lady assistant kept me after school and 
talked with me for a few minutes while I continued 
obdurate and sulky. Finally she burst into tears 
as she said, **Why don't you help me instead 
of making it hard for me? " I put my arms around 
her neck and wept with her as I promised to be a 
model of good behavior. And I kept my promise 
so well that she used to smile at me and call me her 
little assistant. This teacher was Miss Gilfillan, a 
dear, sweet woman, incapable of a harsh word, and 
much too gentle for us half -tamed youngsters. 

One of my letters to my father, dated June, 1852, 
ended with the startling announcement : 

I have heard said there is going to be a caravan 
to day behind the tavern, and that Mr Strong has 
paid 10 dollars for the four schools to march down 
and stay from 4 in the afternoon till 6, folks say there 
is to be one rhinoceros. 

No wonder Mr. Strong was popular. 

After Mr. Strong, Mr. Turner came, an excel- 
lent man who held the position as long as I re- 
mained in the school. He was rather slow, and 
anything but brilliant, but, on the whole, was liked 
by his pupils. In his morning prayer (schools 
were opened with reading of Scripture and prayer 


in those days), he used often to say, "We are 
prone to do evil as the sparks are prone to fly 
upward. *' It was a puzzle to me for a long time, 
what prone meant, as to my mind it suggested, 
Ijring down. He would petition that "we might 
come to our last day on earth like a shock of com 
fully ripe for the grave.*' To my mind a shock 
was appropriate to death, but why com should be 
"ripe for the grave, '* I could not imagine. When 
the committee came in to examine us, always an 
exciting time, Mr. Turner would write upon the 
black-board for us to parse, this sentence, "A man 
of straw was prostrated." We had this so many 
times that we, naturally, became expert in its an- 
alysis. " 'Man* is the subject; *was prostrated' is 
the predicate. *A man of straw' is the logical sub- 
ject. *Man ' is limited by the indefinite article ' a ' 
and by the phrase, *of straw,' " etc. I always had 
a mental picture of the wretched creature lying on 
the ground. While this teacher was writing on the 
blackboard, he wotdd tell us that he had eyes in 
the back of his head, and that no mischief could 
escape his notice simply because his back was 
turned to us. I fully believed this, and sought for 
the eyes hidden in the mass of reddish hair which 
clustered around his head. Por, suddenly, he 
would turn around and catch the sceptical boy ?t 


some mischief. A punishment would invariably 
follow, and not always a light one. 

It seemed as if a teacher's especial duty was to 
surprise a pupil in whispering, — the cardinal sin, — 
or other misdemeanor, and punish him for it. 

There was a sort of rivalry between teacher and 
scholar as to how many rules could be broken 
by the one without discovery by the other. 

After I was married, my husband and I taught 
in the Mt. Auburn Young Ladies' School, near 
Cincinnati, and I was given an intermediate 
grade where four classes were seated for study and 
work. I had no rules except that my recitations 
must not be disturbed. Nobody could have had a 
quieter room of seventy-five girls, or a pleasanter, 
happier set of pupils. 

But boys are said to be harder to manage than 
girls. I have taught both and think not. The 
business of a teacher is to teach, and nearly all 
children, even the very young, can acquire loyalty 
to the ideals of the school and be given a reasona- 
ble amount of liberty. But a method without 
rules and punishment, would have been accounted 
madness in my day. 

In winter the boys used to draw the girls to the 
Rockville school on their sleds. Great was the 
rivalry among us girls to have as our devoted 


swain, the boy with the largest and swiftest sled. 
For some years George Henry Lewis had what I 
considered the finest sled with smooth, bright 
runners. He lived among the hills two miles east 
of us and had far to come. He would often call for 
me, tuck me up on the sled, and draw me to school. 

Our sessions were two, the first lasting from nine 
till twelve, the second from one till four. One 
recfess of fifteen minutes broke each session, giving 
us time to eat the big apples which formed an im- 
portant part of the curriculiun. In winter if we 
were detained, it was dark before we reached our 
homes. The fun was great on stormy days when 
but few scholars were present and the regularity of 
class work was suspended. Then we would cuddle 
around the stove, dry our boots and talk with 
each other, all rules being off for the day. Once 
the boys put red pepper on the stove and drove 
us all home again. I was seldom absent or tardy, 
the latter being an especial disgrace. Heavy snow- 
storms and deep drifts did not deter me. During 
morning devotions, doors were locked and late 
comers had to stand, shivering, in the cold cloak- 
rooms until all were admitted, a shame-faced lot. 

We did good work in this school which I attended 
until my fifteenth year. Arithmetic was my 
favorite study, compound fractions, and partial 


payments being especially delightful. When a 
difficult problem was given out, several of us were 
allowed to sit together in one of the small side- 
rooms, and compare results. We were thorough 
believers in co-education. An occasional lunch- 
eon on watermelon or cheese and crackers did not 
hinder our pencils from flying as we considered 
the intricacies of clock problems; foxes chased 
by hounds in which the fox always had a good 
start, but fell a victim in the end; fields of curious 
shapes surrounded by fences of which we had to 
compute the cost including labor; boxes of half- 
inch wood very complicated in the comers, of 
which we had to estimate the amount of lumber 
required; also carpets of stated widths, whose 
lengths and cost we had to find, when fitted to 
oddly shaped rooms, — all these and many others, 
ingenious and puzzling, were found in Greenleafs 
Arithmetic, and in the "Teacher's Book without 

Our finest mathematicians were two of the boys, 
Herbert James and Fenelon McCollum, but some 
of the girls, although slower, were almost as accu- 
rate. Of one of these boys the story with regard to 
his powers of concentration was proudly told that 
once, when he was solving a problem, a thunder- 
shower passed over the coimtry without his know- 


ledge. Both these old friends are still living 
successful, busy lives. Besides arithmetic we 
studied grammar according to the old methods, 
and geography with large wall maps over which 
we traced with pointers, while we repeated in a 
sing-song tone of voice, the names of the bays, 
lakes, rivers, and mountains of the world. Reading 
and writing were given a prominent place, and our 
copy-books taught us nuggets of wisdom while 
we shaped the letters according to the Spencerian 
standard. Thus we learned that "Honesty is 
the best Policy'* and "The Good, the Virtuous, 
and the True alone are Happy." A blot was 

Spelling, in which we often had contests, two 
of the best spellers choosing sides and spelling 
each other down, was thoroughly taught. Com- 
positions were written and read after being criti- 
cized, and the boys "spoke pieces" gesturing 
according to the sweeps of the arm pictured in 
Lovell's Young Speaker. 

No languages were taught, and as father wished 
me to learn Latin, I took lessons from our minister. 
In the modem sense of the word, this was not 
a graded school, but we accomplished good 
results, and enjoyed more fun than the pupils do in 
a more strictly classified school. When it was left 


to the pupils to determine whether we should have 
a Saturday holiday, we voted to continue the 
morning session, thus forcing the poor teachers 
to be on duty half the day. We compromised by 
allowing "Miscellaneous Exercises'* to be given 
on that day, and we admitted visitors to hear our 
compositions and dialogues. Recess was half an 
hour long, and we might be dismissed a little 
early. Further concessions we refused to make. 
In one dialogue which was called ** When the Cat's 
asleep the Mice will Play," I was selected to be 
the teacher of a school. I wore spectacles and a 
big cap, and, of course, I was armed with a whip. 
In the course of the play I fell asleep, a fact which 
was announced by loud snores. The pupils re- 
presented the mice and performed antics which 
were astonishing. The teacher suddenly awoke 
and brandishing the whip, quickly restored order. 
My success in this was so pronoimced that I con- 
cluded I had much histrionic ability, which, later, 
I hoped to prove on the stage of some wicked 
theatre. The very word theatre was spoken with 
bated breath, since it stood for the worst wiles of 
Satan. But I determined that if ever I should be 
where there was a theatre, and I could go imob- 
served, I would have a seat in some dark comer 
and see this forbidden thing. 



While at this school, we were not so far removed, 
in time, from the Revolutionary War, but that its 
incidents figured largely in our reading books and 
school songs. One verse of the latter I remember, 
with the tune. 

Oh take your taxes home, King George, 

The tyrant's rule is o'er. 
We love our cup of tea full well, 

But we love our freedom more. 
Then overboard it goes, my boys, 

Where darkling waters roar: 
We love our cup of tea full well, 

But we love our freedom more. 

Some of the titles of our ieading>book selections 

were, "Our Native Land"; "You Cannot Conquer 

America," by Earl Chatham; "The War Song": 

"Battle of Bunker Hill"; "Strike for Liberty"; 

"Adams and Jefferson"; "Glory of Washington"; 

and "The Flight of the Muskogee Indian.'* There 



were many others of the same character, selections 
which, I fancy, in the ctiltivation, not only of pa- 
triotism, but of good literary style, would compare 
well with the selections found in school readers 

To us Washington was the greatest of men, and 
he figured largely in our elders' conversation. To 
him we owed our freedom from the ** tyrant. '* We 
did not love the English people very well, but the 
French and Lafayette were clothed with romance. 
I have been in houses where the grandfather was 
still living, who had fought in the war, and who 
pointed with pride to old muskets and powd^- 
homs which had seen service against the EngUsh 
soldiers ; but which then hung harmless against the 
wall. And was there ever an old, moss-grown 
well, deep and dark, in country farm-yards, at 
which Washington has not drunk ? 

My mother had an old table made of solid cherry, 
which belonged to Revolutionary times. It was 
given to her grandmother at that lady's marriage, 
and was the table at which my mother and her 
grandmother ate their meals when my mother 
lived with her. The legend about this table, 
related by mother, as told by her grandmother, 
was, that once some valuable town papers (the 
town was Coventry, Ct.) were brought to Mrs. 


Hale with the request that she should hide them 
from the redcx)ats. She placed them in the drawer 
of the table, spread the cloth, and arranged the 
dishes for the meal in progress of preparation. 
While she and her husband were eating, the 
soldiers came and demanded permission to search 
the house. "Gentlemen,** said the courtly lady, 
•'search the house if you must, but you will par- 
don us if we do not accompany you, but continue 
eating our supper.** The papers were kept safe 
until the war was over. It is more than probable 
that Nathan Hale, the glorious spy, has sat at this 
table. The staimch old piece of furniture is now 
among my most cherished possessions. 

I was so fond of teaching that, when very young, 
I kept an imaginary school by entering a list of 
made-up names in a book, and when I had time, 
by "playing school. ** I would call the classes out, 
going through with the lessons and carefully mark- 
ing perfect or imperfect. I kept the attendance 
daily for a year or so, asking Annie why Fannie 
was absent, or why Lucinda was tardy. Some- 
times I would forget to keep school until after I had 
gone to bed. Then I would softly arise, so as not 
to wake Mattie, mark the attendance of my 
scholars, and announce a holiday as reward for 
good behavior. 


When I was fourteen years old, father, who was 
the school committee, gave me a real little school 
to teach of about twenty small children, an over- 
flow from the large intermediate department. 
The only thing I distinctly recall about this 
was an experience with a little German boy. He 
refused to do something that I required (I have 
forgotten what), and I kept him after school, 
telling him that neither he nor I would go home 
until he had complied with my wishes. He sat 
stolidly in his little chair. Six o'clock came and 
father entered to see what was the matter. When 
I stated the case, he offered to bring me supper. 
I refused. The nine o'clock bell struck (the 
mills rang their bells nine times at that hour), and 
the boy and I had sat long in darkness and silence. 
Then my little rebel said, ''Well, if I must, I 
must. " The conflict was over and we both went 
home. A good, hot supper was awaiting me, 
with mother's sympathy, while father said I could 
not have done otherwise. The school existed 
for one term only. I received forty doUars as my 
reward, my first proud earnings. 



I HAVE come across a ''journal," kept in the 
years 1853 Q^d 1854, ^ ^^ old cast-off account- 
book of my father's. He had used the first 
pages in 1831, a date which appears on the cover. 
As my writing was done with lead pencil, it is much 
faded, and at times almost unreadable. Some 
extracts from this endeavor to put my feelings on 
paper will show my efforts to be reUgious. Every 
good young man or woman about whom one read, 
kept a journal or diary, and made of it a most 
intimate friend. When these good young people 
died their lives and journals were published, and 
thus a type was formed of what a truly pious 
person must be. I remember that it was quite a 
task to keep this daily record when my life was 
uneventful, but I stuck to it and tried to be sincere. 
I give some of the extracts exactly as they were 
written, without apologizing for their apparent 

priggishness and insincerity. They are a true 



picture of the girl of those times. I was eleven 
years old when these reviews of sermons and my 
own comments were written, with occasional 
records of my doings. 

To-day school commenced. I went. I cannot 
describe it. I study Grammer, Geography and Arith- 
metic. Our minister came to dinner. 

Wednesday. Went to school. The second day is 
not much to do and I wrote a letter. Mr Rice, (the 
minister), says he shall give his lecture on the Isle 
of Wight next week. Went to meeting. Mr Rice 
made some interesting remarks about doing good. 
He urged us very much to do good. 

Saturday. November 8th. School did not keep 
at all, and I found plenty of work to do at home. 
Went to singing school in the evening with Annie, and 
as it rained very hard we had a great time getting 

In the fall of this year it was decided that mother 
should go to a doctor hving in Fair Haven, in search 
of rest and health. From her girlhood mother had 
suffered much from nervous headaches. These 
headaches were growing worse. How the dear 
soul kept about her daily duties with her forehead 
creased with pain, I do not know. She never 
complained and could always smile. When she 
was fairly disabled she would go to her darkened 



room and remain in bed for hours, or even a whole 
day. At those times we children had to be quiet, 
for "mother had a headache." I think her stay 
for three months with the physician benefited 
her and that the pain was not so severe after her 
return. But the trouble was never whoUy relieved 
until her death in 1885. When mother left us I 
wrote in my journal : 

Nov. 1 2th. To-day mother went and we are left 
alone, father went to Hartford with her. I can 
hardly be reconciled to the parting, and when we were 
singing at worship "Father whatere of earthly bliss" 
etc. I could not enter into the spirit of that beautiful 
hymn, however if God will restore her to health it will 
pay for all. Mr Rice gave a lecture this evening on 
the Isle of Wight. It was very interesting describing 
the natural beauties of it which must be beautiful 
and giving a short history of "Little Jane the Dairy- 
man's Daughter," tracts by L. Richmond. 

Nov. 13th. Second day without mother. I am 
housekeeper. I hope we shall get along and trust we 
shall. Father thought I had better not go to meeting 
and so I lost my great day for that it is and every week 
I need something to sustain me like this. 

Nov. 15th. Mr Allen from Hartford had the sing- 
ing school in the schoolhouse this afternoon. After 
that Mr Turner gave us some problems on the board 
and then we had a race home. Another singing school 
this evening. 


Dec. 1st. It looks really like winter. The walking 
is not very good, but rather hard work getting to 
school. Mother is getting along very well. Went to 
hear Dr. Bethune lecture on Epidemics. He spoke 
very well but rather lengthy. i}4 hours long. 

Dec. 3rd. To-day the weather was so bad that we 
took our dinners and nearly all the school staid at noon. 
We read compositions to-day. mine was on the fading 
leaf, all of them were very good. One was "Life is 
short and my composition is short too. " 

Jan. 6th. The Lord's Day. Yes it is indeed the 
Lord's Day, and it is a source of rejoicing to me that it 
is so, that it is not our own but the Lord's and I should 
not do anything inconsistent with that, but should 
strive to spend the whole time in the delightful exer- 
cises of God's worship. How nice it seems to me 
this morning to go to church and see our minister 
in the pulpit. He preached upon Isaiah 53:11. He 
shall see of the travail of his soul and be satisfied. 
Mr Rice said that the sujBEering of Christ was his 
travail and he would think it all worth while when 
he sees the results. I need not say that the sermon 
was good for my soul, for my dear journal you cer- 
tainly know that what Mr Rice says is that. The 
sacrament of the Lord's Supper was held in our church 
this afternoon, and I have striven to prepare myself for 
it. God grant that I did not eat and drink unworthily 
thus bringing judgment upon myself, and that it 
was in a right frame of spirit that I went to the table 
of my Lord. My soul is refreshed and strengthened 
and I feel enabled once more to press on to the duties 
of the week. The communion season is a blessed 


one to all believers and it does help ns on in the 
christian warfare much more than others wotild think. 
It comes so seldom that we prize it the more. 

This from a child of eleven years! I remember 
that I was given a set of questions to ask myself, in 
order to prove my worthiness to go to the Com- 
mtmion table. I have not a copy of these ques- 
tions, but I must have answered them in a manner 
satisfactory to myself, else I would not have 
dared to go. 

A month later I find this written in my journal. 

Can I not learn from a few golden clouds that appear 
in the west, that as the dark clouds pass away and leave 
the beautiful clouds, so all my trials and afflictions 
bring out the virtues of religion; and may the dark 
clouds pass away and leave everjrthing bright. I will 
learn to think more of Christ and less of the world, 
he is my strength and on him would I rest for he is 
my anchor as well in the great storm as in the great 
calm. And may God give me the will and I shall 
find the way to glorify him. May this be my motto 
that whether I eat or drink, or whatever I do, it may be 
all to the glory of God. And as Mr Rice says, may 
the glorious rest be mine which he hath promised to 
his followers. There is a thing that troubles me very 
much, that is sin, and well it might, for I am con- 
stantly pained by seeing myself fall so far short of the 
command Be ye perfect even as your father in heaven 
is perfect. But I am comforted by the thought that 
if I faithfully resist the devil here, in my glorious 


rest this most melancholy evil will trouble me no more. 
There the strife will cease and all will be peace, peace, 
a heavenly peace. Oh how delightful. I will strive 
to attain this glorious end. 

The worid, like the flesh and the devil, stood 
vaguely for evil, for that which was hostile to 
"growth in grace. " It was all to be resisted and 
put away. 

Here are other choice extracts : 

I do not feel very well and I suppose I write as I 
feel. Went out to the barn and laid down on the hay 
and ate oats like a horse, and it felt far better than 
lying on the sofa. 

I have decided this week to see as many of the schol- 
ars in our class and inquire why they do not attend 
better. There were only two present yesterday and 
I do not understand it ! 

Witnessed a most glorious sunset this evening. 
The sun was almost a ball of fire and the horizon was 
very dark so that as it dropped slowly behind the 
hills it presented a very singular appearance. Above 
there were red clouds and still farther up long distant 
golden clouds some sirrus, some nimbus, etc. still 
further up were wreathy white clouds, and in the east, 
north and as far as could be seen was one dark cloud 
ready to drop rain. 

Mr Rice's sermon this morning was on Brotherly 
Love. First he said what is brotherly love, it is not 
philanthropy for that is really pity and extends 
to all men however vile they may be, while brotherly 
love extends only to christians, to those only whp are 


followers of our God. And whether black or white, 
congregationalists or Anninians, if they be true 
christians it is our duty to love them because they are 
christians and in a measure like Christ. What is the 
measure of brotherly love was his next remark, and the 
answer is given in the text as I have loved you. Who 
can measure the love that left the joys of heaven and 
came upon this earth, suffered immeasurable things 
and died a cruel death for us and is continually 
watching over us with tender solicitude. And we 
are required to love our brethren like that it is a love 
higher than heaven, deeper than hell, and as lasting as 
eternity. This love will lead us to perform many 
acts of kindness such as visiting them when in sickness 
or in prison and to be faithful in reproving them when 

Repentance is lasting and endures to eternal life. 
Some of the benefits of a broken and crushed heart 
are, first the willingness to hear the doctrines of the 
cross preached about. That soul is very htunble and 
takes sides with God against himself. 

Another good comes from a contrite and crushed 
heart it is the great peace and happiness which attends 
it, he has God for his friend and what has he to fear 
he has no fear of the world to come and consequently 
none of death while the opposite feelings make us 
unhappy and afraid of God's wrath. 

All my childhood through, I was terribly afraid 
of death. By such words as the above in my 
jpumal, I tried to deceive myself into believing 
I had no such fear. I meant to be so good that 


God would be forced to give me a long life, or an 
easy death should that come. 

Mr Rice addressed the children of the Sunday 
School and told them of the New England primer 
and said that in the days of our grandfathers and 
grandmothers there were only thirteen books adapted 
at all for children published and the New England 
Primer was the only religious book. That now there 
were four thousand published all for youth. He said 
that as we were so much more privileged than they 
surely we should make good use of our privileges, for 
unto whom much is given much shall be required 
and if we neglect to get all the good we can we shall 
be beaten with many stripes. 

Here is a picture of the God common in the 
preaching of those days which might well make 
old and young alike to tremble. Where was the 
Father of Love as revealed by Christ? 

The doom to which the sinner goes is most dreadful. 
Not only God's wrath but the fierceness of his wrath 
shall be poured upon him. They will be shut up in 
black despair through all eternity. The fierceness of 
God's wrath is dreadful beyond comprehension. That 
roaring lion which goes about the world seeking whom 
he may devour stands ready to seize him as soon as 
God gives permission. And he declares that when 
their calamities come up to him he will laugh at them. 
When we think of the length of their punishment it is 
still more dreadful when ages of years have passed 
away they will still say in despair this is only an atom 


of what is to come there is still the same round to go 
through of awful remorse. Oh what a warning to the 
impenitent and if they slight it they will be subject to 
a fury of a God which is inconceivably dreadful. I 
wish that all who are yet far from God could have 
heard that sermon they could not help at least think- 
ing. Mr Rice was very impressive in his delivery. 
May that sermon do much good and cause many to 
stop and tremble before going further. Mr Rice 
said that God is the adversary of the impenitent 
and if he does not reconcile with him quickly the time 
may be very short and he will be summoned to trial. 
This day has been a feast of fat things to my soul. 



My apology for bringing to light these foolish 
writings in a childish diary is that they open up a 
picture of the past, when God's wrath and eternal 
punishment were the favorite and lurid themes 
of the pulpit. To a daughter of the Puritans 
who heard these words solenmly endorsed at home, 
(my father required us on Sunday afternoons or 
evenings to repeat as much as we could remember 
of the sermons we had heard during the day, with 
comments of his own), these awful characteriza- 
tions of the Divine Father could make * * a feast of 
fat things for her soul. " Of course I did not know 
what I was writing. I know that I felt outside 
the circle of those wicked unbelievers (usually 
spoken of as **the impenitent'*)* b^it doubtless 
there was a delicious thrill in my heart over the 
possible danger to a good child. For, after all, 
nothing in the future was absolutely sure. 

I am aware of the danger of clothing my early 




reminiscences with subtle motives and psychologi- 
cal intentions which did not exist at the time. I do 
not claim that they did exist, only that I thought 
they did. The proof is in the journal. The 
quotations I have made from the old account-book 
are literal copies and less unbelievable than some 
others which I might have chosen. I wrote with 
utter seriousness and sincerity what I thought was 
pious and appropriate. In my own immature 
fashion I was trjring to solve the age-long problems 
of sin, forgiveness, the relations of God to man, 
and how best to please Him. In other respects 
I was an ordinary child, faulty enough, but, in 
the main, amiable and obedient to authority. 

Our minister, Mr. Rice, (I am giving his true 
name), was a sincere and able pastor of our 
church for about five years. His preaching was 
prompted by a sense of duty. He loved children 
and was helpful to them. He was a constant 
visitor in the schools and offered prizes for improve- 
ment in reading and composition. How well I 
recall him ! He was tall, with stooping shoulders, 
angular and somewhat awkward in his movements, 
near-sighted so that he often failed to recognize 
his friends even when wearing strong glasses. His 
nose was large, and the spectacles rested in a sort 
of natural niche between his eyes. His forehead 


was high, his hair rather thin and worn somewhat 
long. His complexion was as clear as a girl's. 
When his broad mouth smiled his e3cpression was 
apostolic. He often came to our house, stayed to 
tea (part of his pastoral duty in those days), 
and led the family devotions before going home. 
There was a Mrs. Rice, but she seldom went out 
and I cannot recall her. One tall daughter, a 
little younger than myself, used to visit me and we 
walked together. She was too serious to romp, 
being a minister's daughter. We would make 
daisy chains or links of pine needles, or we would 
hunt for birds' nests. Mary Rice knew more about 
birds than I did. 

One spring I learned and recited to Mr. Rice, in 
a class of girls, the Gospel of Luke. Those of us 
who finished the task received a Bible. I also 
learned and recited several chapters of St. John's 
Gospel. Many of these, as the fifteenth of Luke 
and the fourteenth of John I can still repeat. I 
was quick at memorizing and nearly as quick in 
forgetting. Consequently my school lessons never 
troubled me, but examinations were my dread. 
One entry in my journal says I had too little to do 
in school, and therefore asked to join the class in 

One of the earliest tasks which my father set for 


us was to learn the names of the books of the Bible 
in their order. He said it was disgraceful not to be 
able to turn at once to Hosea, for example, or Amos 
or First Corinthians. It was a Sunday game to 
see which of us, including mother, could first 
find a given chapter and verse which father would 
name. At the morning family worship (never 
omitted for any reason whatever) , we read the Bible 
consecutively, from beginning to end, every member 
of the circle reading two verses. We never skipped 
a verse, not even the jaw-breaking lists of names, 
the laws of Leviticus or the wretched stories found 
in parts of the **Word of God." I learned, also, the 
names of the judges, pointing to the fingers of each 
hand and the features of my face. Thus, Othniel, 
Ehud, Deborah, Shamgar, Gideon, belonged to the 
fingers of the left hand. Abimelech, Tola, Jair, 
Jephthah, Ibzan, were counted off on the fingers 
of the right hand. Elon, Abdon, belonged to mouth 
and nose, Samson to hair, Eli and Samuel to eye 
and ear. To this day I could scarcely repeat 
without mistake the names of the judges unasso- 
ciated with fingers and features. With each one of 
the judges, we also learnt some interesting fact, as 
that Jair had thirty sons who rode on thirty ass's 
colts, and had thirty cities. Jair and thirty seemed 
synonymous. We could repeat the names of the 


kings of Judah and Israel, and tell which were good 
and which evil. We could give the generations, 
beginning with Adam, Seth, Enos, Canaan, etc., 
to Abraham and thence to David. It was the age 
of the Old Testament, and the stories therein 
became as famiUar as the history of Rome is to 
children to-day. My father was especially fond of 
Elijah and Elisha. He said they ranked with the 
grandest of the world's heroes. He did not 
believe the tale of the two bears which killed the 
children who mocked Elisha. He said no good 
man would revenge himself on children. There 
might have been bears in the country at that 
time, and they might have eaten some children, 
but not at the prophet's bidding. 

He admitted that not all the Bible stories were trust- 
worthy history. Higher criticism was unknown, but 
father was eminently sensible and thought a natural 
explanation might be found for the fall of the walls 
of Jericho, and for some, at least, of the plagues of 
Egypt. It was his opinion that no unnecessary 
miracle was ever worked when the same result 
could have been obtained by natural means. 

If children are not made familiar with the 
ancient Jewish writings when young, they will, 
probably, never know a literature, which, whether 
divinely inspired or not, is profoundly interesting 


and important. The systematic teaching must 
be given by father or mother. Sunday-schools 
come short of regular instruction, from the natiu*e 
of the case, as they can consider only a few verses 
of Scripture once a week. Young children never 
fail to be interested in Old Testament stories, when 
the application is made subordinate to the his- 
tory. For example, thorough work on Genesis 
would take a year, but after such study the pupils 
could tell the incidents in their own words, would 
know the customs of the household, the nomadic 
life of the tent, the importance of wells in settling 
countries, the geography of Palestine and Egypt, 
the legends of the founding of important cities 
and nations, methods of warfare, and the history 
including the call of Abraham, his noble character 
as "the friend of God," and the origin and first 
growth of the Hebrew people. 

While I considered, when a child, my father's 
Sunday afternoons in the light of bores, especially 
when he added to the Bible lesson a chapter 
of Baxter's The Saint's Everlasting Rest, yet I 
thankfully remember that our memories were 
stored with Biblical literature at a time when it 
was interesting and even amusing. These lessons 
of father's took the place of the second church 
service after that was abolished. 



Sept. 30th, 1854. There is a northeast storm 
raging and I am afraid it will prove disastrous on 
water. Mr Lathrop fell from a wagon and bruised 
his arm dreadfully besides breaking it. They had 
hoped he would not lose his arm, but now it has all 
mortified and to-day it was amputated. 

Oct 2nd. This morning there was quite a hard 
frost. Mattie and I went to call on Mrs Martin. 
We feasted on grapes and had a good farmer's dinner 
which was very nice. I found a large thorn, nearly a 
foot long. Mother and I went to prayermeeting. It 
was very good although only a few were present. 
Once a week I go where my faith is strengthened. It 
lasts from one Thursday to another and then I go and 
get helped and succored. 

Oct. 3. Poor Mr Lathrop. His friends are afraid 
he cannot live. He is insane and in a bad condition. 

Oct. 6. Mr Lathrop died yesterday morning 2}i. 
He was buried this morning at ten oclock. Father 



Oct. 9th. Miss Rogers came to see us and we 
walked to the Pine grove. She was as much pleased 
as I was and we had a pleasant time. We found 
a great many kinds of brake and other green leaves. 
I am crocheing a collar and work mostly on it now. 

Mr Simms baby is dead. It is well for he would 
always have been a suffering infant had he lived. 
Finished Dred, Mrs Stowe's book. I like it very 
well but not as well as her other one. 

Oct 22 . The jack O lanterns are in their prime now. 
We have a good number which we hang on the trees 
and astonish the natives or passers by. 

At the meeting to-night Mr Rice chose for a subject 
the Holy Spirit and explained it to me very plainly. 
Dr. Risley spoke of the comfort of the Spirit and 
father of the scriptures being written by him. 

To-day I have a cold and had to stay in the house. 
While mother is away I am housekeeper. Mr Rice 
remarked to me that I had taken the yoke upon me 
early. I said it was no yoke, and certainly it is a very 
pleasant one. 

I am very happy to-day for God has answered 
my prayers and forgiven my sins and said go in 
peace. I believed he would answer my prayer and 
he has not disappointed me. He never appeared so 
lovely, so holy, so full of mercy as now. Oh the 
blessed thought that Christ is my shepard and I one 
of his lambs. Though I have wandered far from the 
fold he has graciously received me back again to his 
love and favor. I have consecrated myself anew to 


God. Henceforth all my life, all my talents are to be 
devoted to the cause of Christ. May I be the humble 
but happy instrument of winning some soul to Christ, 
this is to be my aim. Mr Rice gave me two tracts, 
one entitled ** Marks of true Repentance. *' the other 
*'To those commencing a Christian Life." I have 
read them with a great deal of pleasure. 

Mr Rice said we must regulate our conduct as 
becometh the gospel of Christ and some of the things 
we should practice are Consistency Steadfastness and 
Self Denial. I must remember all this and try to do 
all things to the glory of God. 

This afternoon it was a very powerful sermon upon 
Where sin abounded grace did much more abound. 
The subject was John Bunyan and he showed forth 
very strikingly the fact of sin abounding but grace 
superabounded. He has visited his grave and learned 
considerable about him in his travels. He encouraged 
all men to flee to Christ for there was probably few 
men equalling in wickedness John Bunyan. 

The sermon this morning was upon run speak to 
that young man. Zechariah 2. 4. he urged the impor- 
tance of speaking to the impenitent youth, especially 
young men. He said that all the young and old rich 
and poor had an influence over some heart. 

In the afternoon father went with Mrs Rose while 
Mattie and I walked to the graveyard. They went to 
select a suitable spot for our lot and we children hunted 
for flowers, found quite a pretty bouquet and when 
father went home we took a walk in the cows pasture 
found a new path which we explored till we came into 
open grounds. At the evening meeting Mr Rice gave 
some of the brethren portions of the world to report 
about at the monthly concert. 



The spot selected for "our lot" was in the 
most beautiful part of the grove bordering the 
cemetery, at the edge of a hill which descended 
steeply to the mill-pond. The hill was thickly 
covered with trees. Birds sang in this quiet 
spot, squirrels ran about, flowers that love the still 
woods grew and blossomed, little ants and bees 
made homes along the banks. Here both my 
parents are buried, and four Uttle mounds mark 
the graves of foiu* of mother's babies. 

This was a beautiful evening and I enjoyed it by 
staying out of doors and looking at the stars. 

Father was very unwell he ate too many cherries 
probably and was tired. Did not go out of the house 
at all. I spent the day sewing reading picking peas 
raspberries etc. I have read considerable of Hiawatha 
and like it very much. 

Elizabeth Holmes called on me this morning. She 
is the one I got to go to the Sunday School. She hurt 
herself in the mill and could not work. We sung 
songs together though not very pretty for our voices 
do not cord together very well. She is a queer girl 
and I do not know her yet well enough to express 
an opinion. In the evening I played backgammon 
and watered the flowers. 

Who should come in to see us but my aunt Charlotte. 
After breakfast we walked down to the post oflSce. 
Coming back we stopped at the paint shop and 
got some paint mixed. She is making some beautiful 


vases, they are glass with some pictures pasted on them 
and then painted blue all over. They are most 

About ten o'clock I found some birdsnests and 
climbed up in the tree to see them, and saw two eggs 
in each, one of the nests belonged to a robin and one 
to a blue jay. 

When I came home to-day Annie Brady was here. 
We sewed a little and studied our lessons for tomorrow, 
she took tea with us. After that we raked up pines 
and made a bond fire and made two heaps which we 
shall light Monday. 

This morning we had a most terrible exhibition of 
the power of God. We have had a thunderstorm the 
most awfully grand I ever witnessed it seems to me. 
Though I am not afraid of the lightning still I felt a 
little timid when I saw the whole heavens enveloped 
in a sheet of lightning and after that a deafening roar, 
and all the time the rain came down in torrents so as 
very much to injure the ground everywhere. The 
water was in the valley so deep we could hardly get 
about. The wall at fathers mill (I do not know 
for what it is used) fell away and is a real heap of 
ruins now. 

These extracts from my journal could be extended 
indefinitely. In reading the faded writing what 
strikes me most is that nearly every one men- 
tioned has passed over. It is an inventory of the 
dead. Father, mother, minister, teachers, Sun- 
day-school mates, most of my school- and play- 
mates, all are gone, many long since. As we grow 


older, marry and pass to other homes, the friends 
of childhood are lost sight of. Upon my father's 
death in 1 893, the dear home was sold and strangers 
live there. I have felt no desire to return and look 
upon the changes. So many ghostly figures would 
wander through the rooms ! Echoes of my mother's 
voice would sound from her bedroom. I could see 
my father sitting at his desk. The old orchard 
of forty or fifty trees, every one of which was 
planted and affectionately watched by my father, 
in which birds built their nests and bees swarmed, 
must be too old for bearing, and perhaps has been 
cut down. I knew as well as father did which 
tree bore astrachans, which golden sweets, which 
greenings, pippins, russets, and ** spitzes. " Under 
some of them I had my broken bits of crockery 
and glass with which I played "keep house." 
On the low branches I used to sit and read. 

There were plum and pear trees, also fine grape 
vines trained along the south wall of the big ter- 
race. But it was of the apple orchard that my 
father was the proudest, and it stored our cellar 
full of barrels of splendid fruit through the winter, 
until the spring brought again the soft pink buds 
and fragrant blossoms of the trees. Is there any 
sight more beautiful than an apple orchard in 
full bloom near the last of May? Otu* "Evening 


Side" was at that time glorified with its great 
bouquets of fragrant flowers. 

A trolley line runs now at the foot of our hill, and 
the big chestnut trees which grew on the steep 
bank are gone. The mills are multiplied and are 
filled with alien workers. The splendid waterfall 
which used to drive the big wheels of my father's 
mills is now only a small stream trickling over the 
rocks where once you could not stand without 
being drenched with spray. The fearsome, dark 
grove which we named Jimmy Bell's Park, where I 
often picked the mayflower (trailing arbutus), is 
now seamed with crossing and recrossing paths 
made by the ** hands " going home from and return- 
ing to their work. In my young days working in 
the mills did not declass anybody. Some of my 
friends worked for a longer or shorter time in the 
silk or thread, paper or envelope factory to earn a 
winter coat and hat. When they returned to 
school they were welcomed on equal terms with the 
rest of us. I once begged father to let me earn a 
little money for myself in that way, but he was 
firm in refusing, sajHlng he thought he could take 
care of me a little longer. Nobody in our town 
was very poor or very rich. We were, perhaps, as 
well off as most of our neighbors, but until I was 
thirteen or fourteen years old, two dresses a year 


were my allowance, made with tucks for increased 
length in future seasons. Mother often wore a 
calico dress to church, for, she said, church was 
no place in which to display outward adornment, 
and everything which distracted from serious 
things, one's or one's neighbors' attentions, was 



When I was ten or eleven years old, one of my 
schoolmates, Mary Post, died, of consumption. I 
was very fond of her, and often visited her through 
her prolonged illness. It was dreadful to see 
her waste away, but she was always cheerful, and 
until the very last would smile her greeting and 
say it was all right and she was willing to go. As 
we had often ridden horseback together, as a 
parting present she gave me her riding whip. I 
have kept it to this day. This girl's death sad- 
dened the whole school, and for weeks we talked 
in low tones and spoke of the mystery of death 
and of what the hereafter might be. 

Soon after this, mother had her eighth and last 
baby which she put into my arms as God's great 
gift to herself and me. I was eleven years old. I 
joyfully took this little, new sister to my love, and 
became almost a second mother to her. I was 
allowed to bathe and dress her, mother sitting by, 



as soon as the ntirse hadleft us. I often slept with 
her and was never unwilling to warm her bottle of 
milk in the night. I took her out in her carriage, 
and felt as much pride in her growth and develop- 
ment as if she had been my own child. The love 
of this sister became one of the strongest passions 
of my early years. Twice her life was in great 
danger as she sat in my lap, but bj'^ holding her 
dose in my arms, she escaped injury. Once, it was 
in winter, when snow was on the grotmd, — ^Jane 
might have been a Uttle over one year old, — several 
of us children, neighbors* as well as our own four, 
filled our old sleigh which a big boy, friend and 
neighbor, guided down the hill, he himself sitting 
on a sled between the shafts which he held as he 
steered. Twice the dangerous descent was safely 
made. With shouts of laughter all hands drew the 
sleigh to the top of the hill ready for another slide. 
By this time more children had been attracted, 
and they crowded in, some standing on the run- 
ners, clinging to the ends of the seats. Mother 
and a friend watched from the veranda, appre- 
hensive, yet unwilling to put an end to the fun. 
Half-way down the hill a pine branch fell from an 
overhanging tree, across the roadway. I saw it 
and felt that it meant, perhaps death, to some 
of us. The sled struck the branch, swerved to 


one side, threw our steerer oflF his sled, and with 
sickening speed we shot down the icy hill. Instead 
of making the roadtum, we pitched over an em- 
bankment at the foot of the hill, an almost per- 
pendicular fall of ten feet or more. We were brought 
up with a fearful shock against a tree. The de- 
moralization of the occupants of the sleigh was com- 
plete. They were huddled together, some thrown 
over the dashboard which was broken, all more or 
less bruised. Without thought, I gathered my sister 
into my arms and took the crash in full with my 
own body. Jane was not hurt, and she laughed 
thinking it was in the game. Of course I was 
badly bruised, but no bones were broken, and the 
marvel was that no one was killed, not even the 
boy under the sleigh. He was the first one to 
speak, and with a weak voice asked if all were safe. 
I, being the eldest, answered "Yes, how is it with 
you ? ' ' We concluded that Providence had watched 
over us and almost miraculously preserved us. 

Another time father was driving, my baby 
sister and I sitting beside him. Jane was in my 
lap, when the horse became frightened, ran, and 
threw the buggy down a bank, overturning it and 
pinning us underneath. The horse disengaged 
itself from the harness and flew down the road. 
Neighbors quickly came to the spot and helped to 


right the buggy and bring it back to the road. 
The horse also was overtaken, and my father, 
with pale face, hitched him again to the buggy, 
tying up the broken harness. He drove on say- 
ing it would never do to let the beast think he 
had conquered, or he could never again be driven 
with safety. But I walked home with Jane. She 
was not in the least hurt, while I was bruised and 
shaken. Por I had clasped her close within my 
arms, anxious only for her safety. 

On neither of these occasions was there time for 
deUberation on my part. It was pure loving in- 
stinct that made me so try to protect the baby 
whom God had given me that not a scratch was 
found upon her. This was not, in any especial 
sense, to my credit. I hope, but do not know, if 
I had had time to consider, whether I should have 
acted in the same manner. 

"'*■'■" J"».A» J B„ 



During the summer of my thirteenth year, I was 
again left as housekeeper with my Kttle brother 
to care for. Mother and father went away for a 
visit in Bangor, Maine, where father's parents 
lived, taking Mattie and Jane. 

We had had, during the winter, a young man to 
work around the house and bam. He was named 
Matthew. He had reddish hair, and I delighted to 
put him into a rage by calling him "carrot-head" 
and similar foolish names. Once I doubled his 
under sheet in the middle, turning over the bottom 
to look like the top sheet. Naturally, when he 
tried to get into bed there was difficulty. 

Another time I scattered hickory nuts under his 

under sheet. For these and similar insults we 

were sworn foes. When one morning, he caught 

up a stick of wood from the kitchen wood-box 

and flung it at my head, missing me by an inch, 

father dismissed him, although both he and mother 



told me that I was greatly to blame. I mention 
this in the light of what occurred during my par- 
ents' absence, for although I had no proof, I always 
suspected Matthew to be the actor in a curious 
attempt to frighten me. 

I was sitting alone, in our living-room, one 
evening, after dark, when I heard a noise at 
the blinds of the bay window which opened to 
the floor. Looking towards the window I was 
startled to see a face peering in. The slats of 
the blinds were being slowly turned up and down 
by a visible hand. 

After the first feeling of fright I arose from my 
chair, and going leisurely to the window, said, 
**You coward,'* closed and locked the window 
and drew down the shade. In like manner I 
fastened and darkened all the windows in the 
room and locked the hall door. After that stones 
were rolled along the veranda and low whistles 
were heard. The maid came in, with a pale face, 
to sit with me. I pretended absolute unconcern. 
This sort of persecution was kept up for several 
nights, imtil I went to the store at the foot of the 
hill, and persuaded a yoimg man clerk who was 
employed there to come to me early in the even- 
ings, and sleep in the house. The noises then 
ceased. I wonder if I should be as brave to-day, 

THE schoolgirl: one year in BANGOR, MAINE; 



Carol A. Stlclmejp, Aged SlxtMn 



In my sixteenth year my parents thought it 
best to send me away to school. I had grown so 
fast I was tall and slender, with stooping should- 
ers. A change of climate was recommended by 
the doctor. Two of my father's brothers and his 
parents lived in Bangor, Maine. Thither I was 
sent. Why so severe a climate should have been 
chosen for a delicate person is not to be explained, 
unless it was that I could live with and receive the 
care of an uncle and aunt, second only to that of 
my own parents. I was sent to attend the Girls' 
High School. I was received most cordially by my 
imcle Thomas Stickney, my father's next younger 
brother, and during the year in which I was a mem- 
ber of his family I was treated like a daughter. 
This, too, when I must have been wilful and trjdng 
at times. There was a small cousin, five years old, 
whom I often put to bed and took care of when 
my aunt was away. Charles was generally docile 

13 193 


and easily managed, especially when I told him a 
story. Julia Congden's tales still remained in my 
memory and could be drawn upon whenever occa- 
sion demanded. Once when I was putting my 
small cousin to bed, he said for his prayer, " Our 
Father who art in Heaven. Amen." Shocked, I 
commanded him to say the whole prayer correctly. 
I could not induce him. He answered me, " I'm 
sleepy and God knows the rest anyway." At the 
end of the year I went home and was not allowed 
to return. This was a grief to me, for I had made 
friends among the girls, and was very fond of my 
teachers. I fotmd out later, that an attachment on 
my part, was feared by my uncle, for the principal^ 
a man twice my age. I certainly did Kke him 
very much, but if he cared for me more than any 
of my classmates, he never showed partiality or 
relaxed, in the least, his severe discipline, and the 
exactions of class work. But near the end of the 
winter, at some evening gathering, perhaps a 
church sociable, we ate **philopena" together, as 
was the custom of the day. **I got it on him,'* 
and he gave me a ring with a tiny diamond in it. 
On the imder side, **Mizpah" was marked. This 
was taken to be full of meaning. (The small dia- 
mond, with several others and a central ruby, 
later, made a stick-pin for my daughter.) There- 

Thomu G«ge Stickney 

Itf Undt vllh rtoB I Svad ■ jmc in Bucdt. Mb, 


fore the association was broken up. When I went 
home I expected to come back, and Mr. Shepard 
asked me to write to him. I did and received a 
friendly answer. This I showed to my father, and 
he put an immediate stop to the correspondence, 
making other arrangements for my education. 

It seems to me strange that my memory is not 
so keen concerning the events of this year in 
Bangor, as with regard to the earlier years of my 
childhood. I remember feeling pleasure in my 
school with its competent teachers, its dear girls, 
its orderly grading and perfect discipline. I recall 
that the examinations in school were approached 
with nervous dread, but were successfully carried 
through. I enjoyed the chemistry class especially, 
notwithstanding the fact that I once spilled sul- 
phiuic acid (I think it was) on my dress and burned 
several holes in the front breadth. The life in my 
imde's family was enjoyable, with rather more 
freedom of action than I had had at home. I 
taught in the infant class in the Simday school, 
attended prayermeetings with my unde, and en- 
tered into all the church activities, such as soda- 
bles and fairs which interested my aunt. In winter 
there were huge snowstorms when the snow was 
taken from the sidewalks and heaped in the streets 
as high as my head, and the cold was often intense. 


I had two serious illnesses through which my aunt 
cared for me like a dear mother, and once I had 
a sore finger, a *' run around," which the doctor 
made light of, but from which I suffered much 
pain for two or three weeks. In school I read 
nearly three books of Virgil, had my first introduc- 
tion to the French language* worked on higher 
arithmetic, algebra, and chemistry, besides study- 
ing English history and composition, during that 
one year. 

I was often with my grandparents, sometimes 
taking my midday meal there, as their home was 
much nearer the school than that of my unde 
Thomas. I was very fond of my grandmother 
jfbo always reminded me« in her face and charao 
ter, of my beloved father. 

My grandfather was a large man of whom I stood 
in awe. He smoked a pipe and snored during his 
aftar-dxnBer nap. at which grandmother and I 
were mightily amused. He was exceedin^y kind 
to me, XK>t for cry own sake. I used to tr>nnlr^ bat 
because I was '^Jotn's child." He was a anger. 
possessing a heavy bass voice. I often went to his 
chorclu Baptist in. denomrrratiQCL whose preacifier 

s Mr. CaldwelL for the express purpose of stand-- 

hfm dtiriiig the sngrng of the hyrcns 

Kng nry anall voice with his strong bass. 


I have discovered a journal kept almost daily 
during the first part of my stay in Bangor, from 
which I shall give some extracts. They show 
the same religious fervor as the earlier one, from 
which I have already quoted. I still aspired 
to be a missionary. While I was sincere in this, I 
was not such an enthusiast as mother's younger 
sister, Lydia Devan, already referred to, who went 
as a missionary to China. Mother told me she 
used to sit by an open window in winter and walk 
upon the sunny side of the street in summer in 
order to become acclimated to either Greenland 
or India as the Lord should call her. I have an old 
Chinese vase, neither pretty nor valuable, but 
much prized by me, because mother cared for it as 
the only relic of her sister's missionary life. It was 
sent to mother from China. 



The journey to Bangor was taken with inter- 
missions, first by stage to Vernon, thence by train 
to Providence, where we changed for Boston. 
There my grandparents met us and took charge 
of me, my father returning home. From Boston 
the trip to Bangor was made in the steamer 
Danid Webster. 

Extracts from my joimial written in 1859: 

May 2nd, 1 859. It is high time for me to commence 
an account of my daily life, and after reviewing a 
little from the time I left home, I will keep a minute 
journal. Monday morning, April 17th was very 
fine, and my ride with father upon the stage top was 
j^freshing as well as pleasant. We took cars at Ver- 
non and proceeded to Providence. Here we were 
obliged to wait some hours before we could proceed 
further. To pass time we made a call, and were very 
vjndly received. At six we arrived in B.^ and fotmd 
Gfandfather and Grandmother waiting to receive us. 
twq went to Great uncle Paul's and gave them all a 
^granst* They seemed glad to see us and tried to 
•nWfcecar stay pleasant. . . . Wednesday Father, grand- 


mother and I went to Brighton. Made a delightful 
call on Mr Rice (otir former minister). Thursday 
Father left for home. What a trial for me. I shed 
a few tears but then was cheerful. . . . 

Friday evening we went to Portland and there took 
the Daniel Webster for Bangor. Slept well on the 
trip, being entirely free from sickness. Saturday, 
we arrived eariy and found uncle Thomas waiting. I 
was greeted kindly all around, and spent the day 
unpacking and arranging my clothes. 

Monday morning at eight o'clock, I went to the 
office of Lawyer Humphrey and was examined by 
him and Mr Stetson for admission to the High School. 
I was admitted, but as school did not keep on May 
Day,^ I spent the day in sewing, practising and taking 
a ride. I drew a book from the library, called Daisy 

Tuesday May 3rd. This morning I went to school 
for the first time. Was introduced to Mr Shepard, 
the teacher, and am fairly well impressed with him. 
Made acquaintance with a number of the girls, and 
they tried to make it interesting to me. I have 
entered the second year, and now am to study Algebra, 
Virgil, French and Nat. Phil. 

Wednesday May 4th. A very warm day. Went 
to school in the morning, and felt a little bit home- 
sick at recess, for no one noticed me scarcely. I sup- 
pose I must make first advances in acquaintances. 

Thursday. I attended school as usual and found 
things much pleasanter. 

' Sunday was first day of May, but the holiday for the school 
was Monday. 


Saturday. Mr Howard visited the school and 
excited great commotion. Compositions were read, 
some good. Hot day. 

Monday. Attended school in the morning, but not 
in the afternoon as I was excused having no recitations. 
But best of all I had a nice long letter from home, 
containing Jennie Pember*s likeness and a number 
of other little things which were very acceptable. 
May God keep every one of them at home in health 
and joy till I am restored to them again. 

Thursday. In school all day, and recited Latin 
and Philosophy. Louise Hincks (my aunt's sister), 
spent the night with me, and in the evening I attended 
a concert with her and her beau, E. Godfrey. Retired 
at loyi o'clock. 

Friday, 1 3th May. Nothing particular has occurred 
all day. My seat in school-room was occupied all day. 
I have decided to add Astronomy to my studies. 

Monday i6th. As I awoke this morning this verse 
of Scripture flashed upon me, ** Awake to righteous- 
n^a €>tc. ** It is a warning that I sleep, and have not 
action enough in my soul. This week I *'must sin 
not. ** I must work for others, for some have not the 
knowledge of God, and this is spoken to my shame. 

Tuesday. I went to school to-day and recited cor- 
rectly a long and hard dreaded Latin lesson, which 
was the chief event of the day. 

Another of my aunt*s sisters, Josephine Hincks, 
was a frequent caller at our house. She was en- 


gaged to George Shepherd, the son of Dr. Shepherd, 
President, (I think) of the Bangor Theological 
Seminary and rightly accounted one of the great 
preachers of the day. He is often mentioned in 
my journal as having done me good by his earnest 
sermons. The references to George can do no 
harm after so many years. It was a matter of 
much interest to me, the conduct of this engaged 

Friday loth June. In the evening it rained, but we 
were all determined to go to a concert given by 
Madame Biscacianti. Uncle provided a hack and we 
rode. Josie had some misgivings about going as she 
was engaged for the evening to George Shepherd. 
Considering the rain however, she decided to go, and 
offended her beloved mortally, I fear. I don't know 
but it will break up the engagement, but hope not. 
The concert was perfectly splendid, and that is a tame 
word. The lady was elegantly dressed and sang most 
charmingly. She is considered superior to Jenny Lind. 
Mr. Evans played the piano with a truly master hand 
and her husband with one other gentleman filled up 
with the violincello and basso singing. The singers 
were invariably applauded and made to repeat eight 
times. Four bouquets were thrown and Madame 
Zimmerman ran to the stage, spread down a carpet, 
and covered it with what appeared to be white and 
red roses, but on closer examination were only holly- 
hocks and snowballs. I never expect to attend so good 
a concert again, and feel myself greatly favored in 
being allowed to hear the sweet little warbler. 


Wednesday 22d. Since the last date I have been 
quite sick with the scarlet fever,* but to-day I feel 
much better. Last Friday I awoke with a sore throat. 
Went to school however. Saturday my throat had 
much increased in soreness and I found it almost 
impossible to swallow. Towards night I began to 
grow uneasy and long for a mother's sympathy and 
care. I went to school in the a.m. but with the 
greatest difficulty, being sick all the time. Sunday my 
throat f airiy alarmed me and I feared it would ulcerate. 
Did not attend church and in the evening I found 
myself covered with a little, fine rash. Uncle sent for 
the doctor a homeopathic physician and he pronounced 
it scariet fever and laid me under a strict rule of living 
for two weeks perhaps. Monday I did not feel well 
and kept the recumbent position all day and lived on 
dry bread toasted and gruel. Tuesday was my sickest 
day and I was weak and good for nothing. Got up 
and dressed however about ten and used the lotmge. 
Found the diet rather hard, but am glad I can get 
along so well. To-day a friend sent me in a beautiful 
vase of flowers. Dr. has just been in and says I must 
not use my eyes, so I suppose I must stop writing. 
But be not anxious my dear journal. I am doing well 
and should feel very much favored at suffering so 
little. Dr. has extended my diet to some strawberries. 
Oh won't they taste good ? I must be contented to be 
nnwell a few days longer, then I hope to be bright and 
healthy again. 

I have given this quotation from my journal to 

• ^ the diflferent way in which contagious dis- 

• 4 1 had had this disease when a child, this illness would 
* nrove that one is not immune after one attack. 


eases were regarded in that day, as compared with 
the precautions taken now. Then there was no 
quarantine, no isolation of the patient, no careful 
diet (what physician would to-day allow straw- 
berries to be eaten during the first week of ill- 
ness?), no disinfection of the room after recovery. 
I was in school after the fever had begun, and 
the doctor was not called until the ** little, fine 
rash" had made its appearance. Germs had not 
assumed their position of importance then. My 
aunt was my only nurse, and I was placed in the 
guest room on account of the comfortable bed 
which it contained. I do not remember whether 
my young cousin was allowed to come into the 
room, but I am sure no one contracted the malady 
from me. 



On the thirtieth of June, during the summer 
vacation, my journal says : 

To-night I ventured forth to a strawberry festival, 
in the chapel of the Bangor Seminary. The hall was 
beautifully furnished, and the strawberries and other 
provisions were in great abundance. I find it the best 
way to get acquainted, for the introductions I sus- 
tained were more, I should think, than all the rest 
during my previous stay. There were some beautiful 
bouquets, and I feeling generous, bought one and 
crave it to Mr Shepard, (the school principal) whom 
I saw and talked with some time He did look finely 
to-night and Josie said he was even handsome, and 
she almost fell in love with him. 

Thursday, July 7th. J. Hincks almost mortally 

Afietudcd her lover by not being at home just when he 

^led We hurried but he reached the house first, 

t^ <ATtod back when we met him, and after a great 

' '/ ^-^yy^iixg, (more than I would have given him in 

>*^^.tfKition> brought him back. He was quite angry 

..v V- U ho^wcvcr, and was hardly polite even to me. 

'^ '\, ?,- ^;;^X is the way girls have to be treated, even 



before the marriage, I believe I shall be tempted to 
keep clear of it. Jos knew Shepherd was going, so 
we walked up to his house and found him just gone. 
Even when we told him that, he said, ** humph, that 
makes no difference, you promised to be at home, and 
if you wanted to walk with me, you should have come 
eariier. ** Now if that doesn't ** beat all, " and verifies 
Mr. Hincks saying, that *' in former times boys used to 
run after the girls, but now if the boys would stay at 
home, the other sex would be after them very soon, 
coaxing them and entreating them. *' Not I, I reckon. 

Thursday 14th. To-day I have perfectly reveled in 
country life, and enjoyed it right well. Phebe, (one 
of my aunt's sisters) and I went strawberrying, in the 
country, and picked three quarts of beautiful large 
ones. It is some fun to pick them when they are so 
thick, and I found them truly so. In the evening we 
went in the river bathing. We put on dresses, but 
cut a comical figure enough when we came out. After 
nine o'clock I started for home, that being the earliest 
I could make George Shepherd leave his darling, and 
he was to escort me home. I tried all I could, but did 
not succeed in reaching home before ten. 

My uncle was insistent about my being in the 
house before ten. My aunt's home where I 
spent this delightful day was in Brewer, two or 
three miles from Bangor, across the river. As 
there was much visiting between the two homes I 
often enjoyed the country life of the Hincks 


Tuesday, Jtily 19th. I took dinner and supper with 
Grandpa, and went to Norembega in the evening to 
hear a fugitive from Kentucky, from the law which 
was after him for assisting a runaway slave, which 
however, he denies. It was very interesting, & the 
subject how much do we owe to earthly laws when 
they conflict with heavenly. 

Sunday 24th. To-day was very cold and uncom- 
fortable. As I went into church this morning, I 
noticed people standing in groups and talking together 
and it seemed as if something was wrong. Still my 
curiosity was not relieved until I had seated myself 
and my uncle came in asking me if I knew about 
George Shepherd. I said no, then he told me he died 
the preceding night in his sleep. I was shocked indeed 
and it was some moments before I could believe it. 
It certainly is one of the most wonderful and mysteri- 
ous providences I ever knew. I have since heard all 
the particulars which I will write here. George went 
to Winthrop on Saturday, to preach, and appeared in 
good spirits. When there he spent a very pleasant day 
visiting, in the afternoon and to tea, and returned to 
Mr Benson's house where he was stopping, at nine 
o'clock. He retired at half past nine, wound his watch, 
took out his brush and comb, and prepared every- 
thing for a speedy dressing in the morning. Not 
coming down to breakfast, his room was entered 
and George Shepherd was there only in his body. 
His soul had flown to higher regions. The shock 
is great and every one is in wonder and almost fear 
from it. 

Being quite intimate with Josephine, I have known 
George also very well. He has been in a measure, free 


with me, and in ways like this has manifested a more 
than passing acquaintance. With Jos in his lap, his 
arm around her in the most affectionate manner, he 
has two or three times asked me to come into the 
room and pass judgment on their position, appealing 
in a light way to my admiration. Then too, in the 
evening of the fourth of July, I was with him all the 
evening, and both of us felt as free as brother and 
sister; indeed when he died I felt as if I had lost a 
brother, and most sincerely do I sympathize with the 
sorrowing family, and poor Jos. I inmiediately wrote 
the sad tidings to my home, and I hope I shall take 
this solemn lesson to my heart and leam that which 
was intended in the warning. Should I, as we trust 
George now is, be in that bright world above so that 
absent from the body I should be present with the 
Lord? Would my hope stand such a test as that? I 
think I may call Jesus mine, God my father, and 
heaven my home, and if so death is welcome when it 
pleases it to come. How wretched I should be had I 
not this confidence, and oh how dreadful when death 
overtakes in that condition. Yet I think I may say 
'*I know that my Redeemer liveth, " and at the last 
day he will claim me for his own. Oh my Saviour 
desert me not on my deathbed, and let not my hope 
prove a delusion, but take me to thine own blessed 
arms, and permit me to dwell with thee and see thee 
face to face. 

I cannot tell at this distance of time how much 
of this expression of my religious feeling was sincere 
and unaffected. The stilted writing was due 
not only to the shock of George Shepherd's death, 

2o8 a: daughter of THE PURITANS 

but to the common way of looking at such *' provi- 
dences, " as solenm warnings to the living. I Uked 
George Shepherd for his own sake as well as for his 
intimate relation to my aunt's sister. His sudden 
death brought the appalling thought of my own 
death very close, and I tried to comfort myself 
with the thought of my own preparedness. At any 
rate such was the fashion then of journals. 

Monday 25th. To-day the body of George Shepherd 
was brought home, and said to be as natural as life. 
Josie came in feeling her sorrow most acutely. He 
must have died without a struggle, as the bedclothes 
were as smooth as if they had never been disturbed. 
His countenance was very calm, appearing more like 
sleep than death. 

Saturday 30th. I read some in the life of Mrs 
Smith, the missionary to Beirut, and found myself 
asking the question so often coming to me of myself 
being a missionary. It is dreadful to leave all friends 
so, and be an exile from his country, but unless we 
forsake houses and lands, parents and sisters, brothers 
and friends, we cannot be the disciples of Jesus. I 
think if it be God's will I am ready to devote myself 
to the life of a missionary, and when I consecrated 
myself to his service, I am sure I did not restrict 
myself to my own country. No, indeed. That were 
no consecration at all, and if thou call me Lord, to 
foreign lands I am ready. 

Mother writes a beautiful letter to Mrs. Shepherd, as 
full of sympathy as her kind heart prompts. 


Thursday 4th Aug. Josie came up to-day, more 
like herself than I have seen her since he died. Auntie, 
Josie and I went to Mount Hope and my poor friend 
was deeply affected by the sight of George's new-made 
grave. The cemetery is quite a nice one and has 
many beautiful monuments and some tombs. 

Sunday 7th. To-day I have accepted the invitation 
to help IGtty Foster take charge of the infant class. 

This was the first of my teaching in Sunday- 
school. For forty years I remained in that service 
teaching at different times all grades of pupils, 
young and old. It was always a pleasure to me, 
and I never failed in interesting my classes, be- 
cause I was always interested myself. 

Monday, Aug. 8th. The family all went off this 
morning to a picnic with several other families. I was 
left alone again to myself. But I always enjoy being 
alone and in reading, writing, etc. I spent a pleasant 

Wednesday loth. This morning I arose eariy, at 
five o'clock, & helped auntie spread some bread and 
pack things for the excursion. At half past seven we 
went to the boat and sailed. There was a tow-boat 
and ship tied together, and both were comfortably 
full. I began making acquaintances fast and all were 
in high spirits and full of glee. At ii>^ we arrived 
at our destination. Fort Point, opened dinner baskets 
and made our picnic. We had a nice clam chowder 
in which fish was very scarce, and the tables were 


plentifully provided with good things. At two we 
sailed again and stopped at Fort Knox. This we 
went all over, and truly it is a splendid fort and worthy 
of Maine. I cannot describe it, but it is very large, 
about half finished, and all of solid stone. We passed 
through some winding and mysterious passages, 
perfectly dark, and it made me shudder to think of 
being left there alone. Mr. Raskins piloted me around 
and we went up the most dangerous places, and 
scrambled about in just the manner to suit me. Again 
we took the vessel and arrived home at half past six, all 
very much pleased with the day. I had a beautiful 
letter from father to close up with, written in Union 
City, Mich, where I was bom. He spoke of George 
Shepherd & I cannot help referring to him here at 
times. I missed him in the excursion and Josie who 
would not go without him. 

Monday 15th. Sarah, Josie and I took a ride in 
the evening, the most beautiful of all portions of the 
day. Sarah getting tired we dropped her at the door, 
and wishing for a gentleman, we invited Dick Stone, 
(familiarly called) to drive us and we took a most 
lovely drive. We were gone most too long though, and 
frightened uncle Thomas into a headache. 

I remember this ride which was taken without 
my uncle's knowledge. The carriage was standing 
at the door, and he was intending to use it himself. 
Upon the impulse of the moment Josie and I 
jtmiped in, minus hats and coats, intending only to 
go around the block. Josie was experiencing a 


reaction from her weeks of mourning, and was in 
high spirits. We went on and on into the country, 
in bright moonlight, nor could I, who was getting 
anxious and worried, persuade her to turn home 
until we were miles from the house on State Street. 
Dick Stone, of course, was willing to enjoy the fun. 
It was well after midnight when we drove a per- 
spiring horse to the door, and found my uncle 
pacing back and forth, nervous and excited. It 
was the only time I ever saw him really angry. 
After scolding us roundly, he forbade either of us 
to touch the reins of his horse without his permis- 
sion. My uncle was a lover of horses, and always 
drove a fine animal. This wild ride was not con- 
ducive either to the well being of the horse, or the 
comfort of its owner. The short account given 
in my journal amuses me. It was a blameworthy 
act, but I would not exonerate myself, although I 
was helpless to alter the situation. 

Wednesday 17th. A picnic was the order to-day 
and in a double carriage Jos, uncle and aunt, Charley 
and I went to Pushaw where we met the others, 
consisting with ourselves of 21 & embarked. Sailed 
to an island and spread a bountiful repast. Then re- 
entered the boat and fished awhile. Another sail 
till we landed and it being quite dark, we prepared 
a supper and had a second picnic on the grass. We 
arrived home a little past nine. 


Sattirday, August 20th, 1859. To-day I completed 
my sixteenth year. I felt a little homesick, it being 
my first birthday spent away from home, and hereto- 
fore it has been celebrated by a little present from all, 
and kisses and good wishes, above all, my mother's 
conversations urging me to review the past year and 
live better in the future. O I wish I heeded more 
those counsels, and loved my Savior and was in 
short, a better christian and more active in Christ's 
service. I hope I have made some little advance in the 
past year, and at least have overcome my doubts, and 
feel more humbled about my acceptance and pardon. 
That would be my worst sin, as God has given 
me proof that I am his and he is mine ! If I am 
spared another twelvemonth I have consecrated 
myself wholly and fully to every work my Savior 
gives me to do. He is my master and I know no 
will of my own. Jesus help me and curb and even 
break my will if it plays me false in my service to 

Saturday 27th. This morning although the skies 
dropped water in great abundance, Jos and I gathered 
up our clothes, took an umbrella and trudged home. 
(I had spent the night in the Brewer home.) A mile 
and a half in a drenching rain will wet a person more 
or less, and we were obliged to change clothing. I 
find I have not lost my old fondness for ventur- 
ing forth in rain, and it is all fun and no trouble 
at all. Mrs. Harris, (who lived next door), has 
her brother visiting her. He is a fine looking 
fellow in my opinion yet that does not tell me how 
good he is, and I could not judge on so slight an 


Monday 29th. Hurrah for school. Yes, I am 
quite ready to go again, and this winter Carrie must 
learn something. Mr. Shepard pleasant as ever, the 
girls all cordial in their greetings, and indeed a very 
good beginning. My studies are to be Latin, French 
and Chemistry. Jos took tea and I walked over with 

Tuesday 30th. School again to-day and very 
pleasant. I walked from Brewer before school and 
tired myself some. Had a letter from mother and 
soon I may expect father. 

Monday, 5th Sept. Went to school and studied 

Wednesday 7th. Last night had a letter from 
home, '*all hands." It was pleasant indeed, and all 
the children are well. To-day I answered it. Went to 
Mr. Wilder's singing school for about half an hour. 
Then called upon Ellen Fisher, a girl with the merriest 
disposition I ever saw, I think. 

Thursday 8th. Attended school all day and walked 
over to Brewer afterward. 

Friday 9th. Went to the usual schoolhouse, and 
studied till I was very tired. 

Sunday nth. Uncle was sick from an attack of 
headache from an attack of yesterday of great severity. 
Aunty not well, and I delegated (represented?) the 
family all day at church. Charlie accompanied me in 
A.M. Prof. Shepherd preached all day. 


Tuesday 13th. Sarah Harris expected her soon to 
be husband to-day and she waited nervous enough 
until too late, to expect him more. 

Wednesday 14th. Dr. Smith made his appearance 
greatly to Sarah's delight. We all went in and got a 
good view of the fiance, and saw how homely he was. 
A great nose and spectacles are his chief characteristics, 
unless I except his extreme nervousness and what I 
should call a light catarrh. He arrived too late to 
come up last night on account of the rain, but this 
morning he appeared at ten o'clock, all gloved and 
tipped with fashion. She may have him but save me 
from the old bachelor. 

Saturday 24th. The choir were to meet here for 
rehearsal, but owing to the rain only four came. I had 
to play, uncle being sick, and we had a nice social 
evening. Four umbrellas were left standing in the 
hall, near the door, and were stolen after Jos had 
opened the door to let in a little air. It was only a 
little more than ajar, yet they were taken and someone 
in the parlor all the time. A carpet-bag had been left 
standing there and auntie had the impulse strike her 
and without any reason to assign, took it to another 
place where the rascals could not see it. That is what 
I call providential and the hand of God in a very small 
event yet very plainly seen. 

It is evident that to my mind, umbrellas were 
not so worthy of providential care and interposi- 
tion as carpet bags. 



My journal does not extend beyond the first 
of November of the year 1859. If kept later 
in another book, it is lost. My father's visit 
about that time, a matter of supreme interest 
to me, the Musical Convention in the chorus of 
which he and I sang, the daily events of school, 
visits and excursions, Sundays' sermons were the 
record of an uneventful life. 

One distressing incident happened to me during 
the winter. The Latin class to which I belonged, 
was studying Virgil. It was comprised of thirty 
or more girls, so large that it was impossible for 
each one to recite more than once or twice a week. 
I had so good a record I was often passed by. On 
one occasion (I had been called upon the preced- 
ing day), I concluded it was safe for me to omit 
the preparation of the lesson for that day. It was 
a whim that led me to take the risk, partly because 
it was a risk, although I had also been pressed for 



Wednesday 22d. Since the last date I have been 
quite sick with the scarlet fever,* but to-day I feel 
much better. Last Friday I awoke with a sore throat. 
Went to school however. Saturday my throat had 
much increased in soreness and I found it almost 
impossible to swallow. Towards night I began to 
grow uneasy and long for a mother's sympathy and 
care. I went to school in the a.m. but with the 
greatest difficulty, being sick all the time. Sunday my 
throat fairly alarmed me and I feared it would ulcerate. 
Did not attend church and in the evening I found 
myself covered with a little, fine rash. Uncle sent for 
the doctor a homeopathic physician and he pronounced 
it scarlet fever and laid me under a strict rule of living 
for two weeks perhaps. Monday I did not feel well 
and kept the recumbent position all day and lived on 
dry bread toasted and gruel. Tuesday was my sickest 
day and I was weak and good for nothing. Got up 
and dressed however about ten and used the lounge. 
Found the diet rather hard, but am glad I can get 
along so well. To-day a friend sent me in a beautiful 
vase of flowers. Dr. has just been in and says I must 
not use my eyes, so I suppose I must stop writing. 
But be not anxious my dear journal. I am doing well 
and should feel very much favored at suffering so 
little. Dr. has extended my diet to some strawberries. 
Oh won't they taste good? I must be contented to be 
unwell a few days longer, then I hope to be bright and 
healthy again. 

I have given this quotation from my journal to 
show the different way in which contagious dis- 

' As I had had this disease when a child, this illness would 
seem to prove that one is not immune after one attack. 


eases were regarded in that day, as compared with 
the precautions taken now. Then there was no 
quarantine, no isolation of the patient, no careful 
diet (what physician would to-day allow straw- 
berries to be eaten during the first week of ill- 
ness?), no disinfection of the room after recovery. 
I was in school after the fever had begun, and 
the doctor was not called until the ** little, fine 
rash" had made its appearance. Germs had not 
assumed their position of importance then. My 
aunt was my only nurse, and I was placed in the 
guest room on accotmt of the comfortable bed 
which it contained. I do not remember whether 
my yoimg cousin was allowed to come into the 
room, but I am sure no one contracted the malady 
from me. 


"Do you realize that your failtu^ demoralized 
the whole class?" 

As I remained silent, he continued, "I am to 
understand then, that you have no explanation to 
give of your absolute failure to prepare to-day's 
lesson; that you deliberately came to the class 
without having looked at the book? '* 

I could only assent. After a pause he said: 
"See that this never happens again. If there is 
good reason for your not having studied the lesson, 
come to me before the class recitation and get 
excused. But do not think you will escape without 
punishment. Within a week, you will hand to me 
a composition on the subject, * Nothing succeeds 
like Success.'" 

"Why, Mr. Shepard," I pleaded, "that is beyond 
my power to do." 

"It is imperative, " he said. "I will give you 
a full week, but it must be done, in addition to 
perfect recitations in all your classes. " 

Well I remember how I struggled with that com- 
position. I sat up late nights and rose early morn- 
ings, and the result was the most miserable trash 
about Napoleon and George Washington. Besides, 
I was called upon every day of that week to read 
the translation of the full lesson, in Virgil, a penalty 
so evident that all the girls were much amused. 


When, timidly and shamefacedly, I handed my 
poor effort to my teacher, he smiled in the kindest 
manner, and said: "The incident is closed. Miss 

Then and not till then did the hardness in my 
heart give way, as, with many tears, I said, "I am 
sorry, Mr. Shepard." 

"I know you are," said he. "So am I, but 
remember the incident is closed. " 

I never again gave that teacher nor any other, a 
poorly prepared recitation. I understood that it 
was a point of honor, each day to do my best, and 
that anything short of that was disrespectful to 
the instructor. 

I heard years later, that Mr. Shepard enlisted 
in the Civil War, on the side of the North, and was 
killed in service. I do not know whether that 
was the truth. I do know that no better man, no 
more tactful gentleman ever filled the office of 
principal in a girls' high school. In this instance, 
the fact that my penalty for failure in duty was 
prolonged over a week's time, by the struggle with 
the composition on what was for me an impossible 
subject, taught me that poor work as a student 
would not and could not be tolerated. The severity 
of my ptmishment impressed not only me, but the 
whole class who learned in some way about it, so 


that from that time, the redtations in the Virgil 
class reached^ a high water mark. 

One of my greatly loved teachers. Miss Helen 
Thtirston, went afterwards as a missionary to 
China, but did not reach her port. The vessel on 
which she sailed was never heard from. 

At the end of a year, most delightful in every 
way, in Bangor, all the pleasant intimacies with 
teachers and classmates were broken oflf, and I 
have seen few of those dear people since. What 
their history has been and how many are still living 
I do not know. Fanny Foster, Laura Famham, 
Mary Thurston, a delicate girl, sister of the teacher, 
who fell ill and died, early in her life, of constimp- 
tion, Emma Littlefield, Amanda Wilson, — I give 
their real names here, and could add others, — all 
were dearly loved, but passed out of my life. My 
grandparents, aimts, and imdes are gone, my 
cousins have moved away. My cousin Charles 
has died, and none of our family lives now, in 



I SPENT most of the next year at home, recruit- 
ing in health, for I was far from strong. The 
doctor, in order to straighten my shoulders, 
made me walk ten minutes at a time with the 
dictionary on my head, and he ordered an out-of- 
door life. I was given a patch of grotmd just 
below the terraces, to make into a flower garden. 
As mother was an enthusiast about flowers, she 
helped me to lay out the beds, make borders, 
and plant seeds. Naturally the garden was a 
success. I rode horseback on pleasant days, and 
spent hours in my pine grove. I tried to keep 
up some study and read a little French and Latin, 
but interruptions were frequent and I found my 
mind getting fallow and undisciplined. Early 
the following spring, I annotmced that I was 
going to school, was going to take a regular course 
of study and be graduated. I asked my father 
to send me to Vassar whose brilliant history had 



just begun, but he did not approve of college for 
girls. It tended to make them mannish and tin- 
ladylike. The first one knew, our daughters 
would be walking with canes and smoking cigars. 
Poor father! Could he have seen the advanced, 
the modem girl! 

I chose Wheaton Seminary, where some of our 
Rockville girls had been. At that time it stood 
side by side with Mt. Holyoke in its reputation for 
the higher education of girls, and in Wheaton, 
differing in that respect from Mt. Holyoke, the 
students were not obliged to do any of the house- 
work. That appealed strongly to me, to whom all 
domestic work was a bore, only to be undertaken 
when one's mother was ill, or the maid of all work 
was absent. 

Wheaton Seminary, now Wheaton College, was 
situated in the pretty, quiet village of Norton, 
Massachusetts. A more perfect spot for study 
could not have been found. Mrs. Wheaton, then 
living, kept close watch of the interests of the 
school, and often contributed generously of her 
funds, when money was needed. For although the 
expenses of pupils were small, board being two 
dollars and a half a week, and tuition eight dollars 
a term, yet the table was excellent and lectures 
and entertainments were provided from Boston 


and Providence, making it often necessary to 
eke out the slender income. Thither I was 
sent, and enjoyed one delightful term. 

For the first, and I believe, the last time in my 
life, upon my entrance into Wheaton Seminary, 
I experienced homesickness, real nostalgia. I felt 
awkward and shy, not knowing any of the girls 
or teachers. And I was unable to hide my feeling 
of strangeness and aloneness, when I saw the 
meetings of girls who had been in the school 
before, and who rushed into each other's arms 
with joyful greetings. 

The second morning after my arrival, I was in 
the crowd of students in the Seminary Hall, 
waiting for the nine o'clock bell to ring, when one 
bright, jolly girl brought in the mail. She read 
off the names of fortunate recipients of home 
messages when she came to a letter for me. I 
could recognize my mother's fine handwriting on 
the envelope, and knew that she had sent an early 
love letter to me, expecting it to reach me in the 
very beginning of school life. "Where's Miss 
Carrie Stick — Stick — Stick-in-the-mud?" I reached 
for the letter. The girl, laughing, held it above 
my reach, and I jumped for it. This provoked 
joy from aU the rest. **Well, you're a new one, 
aren't you?" said the teaser. "Haven't had the 


honor of meeting you yet. " She bowed low, and 
presented me to all the others, saying, * * Girls, this 
is Miss Stick-in-the-mud. " 

All my sense of humor vanished. I felt as if I 
had committed a crime. My mother had also 
been hurt, insulted. Slowly I went to my room. 
I was alone at first, my roommate not arriving 
tmtil later. I shut and locked the door, threw 
myself on the bed, face downward, and cried with a 
breaking heart until I was worn out. I wanted 
mother, just mother. I must go to her. I deter- 
mined to pack my small trunk, steal unobserved 
out of the house, and start for home. I spent all 
morning in this miserable manner, sobbing and 
packing. I paid no heed to the dinner bell. No 
one naissed me, and at that thought I cried the 
more. At last one of the older girls did miss me 
and knocked at my door. Unwillingly I opened it. 
She understood the situation. ** What's this? 
Packing for home? You're homesick, Miss Stick- 
ney. But that's no matter. Lots of girls are that 
way, and they cry their eyes out just as you have 
been doing. Let's unpack and brave it out." 
Tears came again, but I permitted this comforter 
to take my clothes out of the trunk and lay them 
in the drawers. Then she caught me in her ^ arms, 
drew us both down into the rocking-chair, and 

Mrs. Caroline C. Metcalf, Pdncipail of Wb«atoa Semlnuy for 
Tw«nt7-five Years 


kissed me. She told me of funny happenings in the 
school and made me laugh. The crisis was passed. 
I went to supper and had a good appetite. After 
a night's sleep I felt better and then work began, 
the best panacea for a troubled heart. 

Whether Mrs. Metcalf heard of this incident 
I do not know, but very soon a different arrange- 
ment was made for the distribution of the mail. 
The letters were placed on a certain table and 
each girl went for her own. In those days we were 
required to leave our letters open for censorship, 
before mailing. No male correspondents were 
allowed unless express permission was obtained 
from parents. 

Homesickness is a real affliction, and one who 
has experienced its desolation will feel sorry for the 
poor little heart which is mourning for mother. 

Mrs. Caroline C. Metcalf, the principal, was 

eminently fitted for her position. She was quick 

and decided, peremptory but kind, helpful to 

those who had come there for work, unsparing in 

her sarcasm towards those who were negligent or 

indifferent. She had her eye on everybody, and 

if girls got together after retiring bell had struck, 

and made never so little noise, a quick, nervous 

knock would be heard at the door, and ** Young 

ladies, why are you not in your own rooms?** 


would cause a hurried breaking up of the party. 
Mrs. Metcalf *s success was due, beyond all other 
things, to her selection of her teachers. If one 
was found incompetent, she stayed only one term. 
Those who were in the school when I was there. 
were the best to be found in all the country, who 
taught, not for money but for the sake of in- 
fluence. Their salaries were ridiculously small. 
These women had a tremendous influence for 
good over the young girls committed to their 
care. Lucy Larcom, then in her prime, taught 
English Literature and Composition. What an 
inspiration it was to sit in her classes and hear 
her talk about the men who had made the litera- 
ture of our language the best in the world ! She 
was a poet, and her face often glowed with the 
fervor of her thought. She had little patienee 
with dull or uninterested members of the class, 
but to one who cared as she did about her sub- 
jects, she would give of the whole riches of her 
knowledge, as to an intimate friend. I often 
went to her room after school hours, and in the 
evenings, and sat on a little stool at her feet, en- 
raptured with her conversation and her personality. 
She was never trivial, although possessing a strong 
sense of humor which made her eyes twinkle while 
she laughed till she shook. Her voice was low and 

Miss Lucj Larcom, Teacher of Enslish in-Wheaton SemiiuuT 


sweet, and she talked in a poetical way, often 
mystical, always spiritual, of the loftiest subjects. 
Her religious trust was deep, vital, abiding. To 
me she was the ideal of an inspired prophetess. 
Next to my mother, I owe to this strong, sweet 
woman, the inspiration of my own life. When she 
took a room out of the Seminary, in order to be 
quieter, and her former room was given to me, I 
always felt that the angel of her presence was with 
me, making even the furniture different from that 
of any other place in the house. Miss Larcom's 
face rises before my mind this minute, the most 
beautiful I ever knew, glowing with her soul's fire, 
kindly helpful. She was a friend of Whittier, 
and had letters from him which she treasured. One 
dared not even think an unworthy thought in her 

Then there was Miss Cutler, later Mrs. Harrison. 
She was practical, a little stiff perhaps, but kind- 
ness itself. One went to her if one felt homesick 
or blue. She made us put on our rubbers in damp, 
and an extra wrap in cold, weather. She was 
comfortable, homelike, and came to us in sickness 
or if we were in trouble. I do not remember 
whether she taught any classes, but as a sort of 
housemother, she was invaluable. 

Miss Windsor was tall, dark-eyed, dreamy. 


strikingly handsome, and, I fancy, of a passionate 
and romantic nature. I studied Botany with her 
and tmder her enthusiastic leadership, acquired 
a great love for flowers. Many of the girls adored 
this wonderful woman, and thronged to her room 
after study hours. I am sure she was easily a 
perfect disciplinarian, getting work from her 
classes because it was she herself who required it. 

Miss Cole was the admirable teacher of Mathe- 
matics. She was quiet and rather cold. No one 
worshiped her, but no one neglected her recitations. 
Her displeasure was not pleasant to endure. 
When the recitation went badly her small foot 
went tap, tap, under the table. No girl could keep 
her self -composure with the tapping of that foot, 
but would usually give the matter up and sit down. 
Dullness was unpardonable. I enjoyed my review 
of Higher Arithmetic and Algebra under Miss 
Cole, and willingly worked my best. 

It was with her that we used to arise at four 
o'clock and go into the fields and woods to leam 
the songs of the birds. It seemed to me there 
was nothing in the field of nature which she did 
not know. Birds, their nests and their habits, 
insects, mosses, lichens, trees, all these were mat- 
ters of intimate knowledge with her. 

I studied Geometry with sweet Sarah Paine, 


Miss Maria Melius 

TsaclMr d Dnwioi 


one of the younger teax^hers, faithful, conscientious, 
competent. She was not long for this world, and 
I think her delicate health prevented her from 
coming back after my first year. We were 
supposed not to refer to the book, the first six 
books of Playfair's Euclid, in our study, but to 
work out the problems and theorems ourselves. 
The figures were drawn on the blackboard, and we 
copied them and the theorems into our notebooks. 
I taught the next class in Geometry, and so well 
had I mastered my subject, I taught from memory, 
seldom, if ever, referring to the text-book. 

Miss Melius, teacher of drawing, and Miss Carter, 
Miss Larcom's successor, loved each other with 
that soul devotion which unmarried women some- 
times feel for one another. After a time, they 
lived in a cottage of their own, and came to their 
classes from outside. Their end was tragic. Miss 
Melius becoming nearly blind, and both dying 
from the same lingering, painful, dreadful disease, 
meeting death bravely, almost defiantly, in the 
little cottage. 

. * ^ 



; ><*/t * yyv^ '>5«o«n -sf the -n: 

f^^hif^/\ t}f^. t^^i f^^ilt f// tuffii0X. It was tfce firs^ 
fff^fA M >r#f/| >AAr^ h;*f4 *iw1 <r>M with me 
Ut^titfHHfi Ut ffty /U^f^, When I was 


that no essential objection in my father's mind 
barred the way to Wheaton, I determined to go 
thither. About two weeks before the fall term 
began, I went to father and asked him for fifteen 
dollars. He gave it to me without a word. I went 
to Hartford and bought material for two dresses, 
also a hat. Mother refused to help me with the 
sewing. I therefore went to a friend and spent the 
days with her, she cutting and basting as I sewed. 
During this time the family relations were strained. 
On the morning of the day of my departure, all 
of my simple preparations were finished, and my 
small trunk was packed. While waiting for the 
stage which was to take me to Vernon, I went to 
father who was seated at his desk in his office. 
"Father, I want $75," I said. He handed me 
his pocket-book. I took from it the amount which 
I had specified, said good-bye, receiving no re- 
sponse, then went to mother for her parting kiss 
which she refused (the first and only time), and 
entered the stage. Until then I had kept my 
courage up, but once started, I burst into tears 
and had a good cry. Over and over I said to 
myself, '*I am right, they are wrong." Drying 
my tears at length, I went bravely on, and took 
up my school duties. I wrote home regularly for 
three or four weeks before one answer came. Then, 


gradually those dear people took me back into 
their affection and things were as before. 

Upon the night of my gradtiation day, two 
years after, father and I were walking together 
vmder the grand old Wheaton elms. Back and 
forth we promenaded, I proud to have with me so 
splendid a man on this occasion all importajit to 
me. He had been present at our exercises, at 
the concert in which I had played on one instru- 
ment, the primo of a duet on two pianos (selec- 
tions from Norma), besides a solo; had heard my 
essay on **The Everlasting Hills" ending with the 
valedictory, prepared imder Miss Larcom's direc- 
tion and tied with a blue ribbon, and had seen the 
scholarship register, in which my record was 
a perfect mark in every study. The graduation 
exercises of those days were very different from 
the elaborate functions of to-day. Every girl of the 
graduation class had to read an essay, before the 
audience composed of trustees and friends, an 
ordeal which daunted the bravest soul. 

My father said : '* My daughter, I know how you 
have struggled to make the most of your time and 
opportimities during these two years, in order to 
save me expense, making up many of the studies 
and completing a four years' course in this limited 
time, and I want to say to you that your choice of 


Wheaton was right and mine for you was wrong. 
This is the better school, and more fitted for you, 
and I can see that you have here developed a strong 
rehgious and intellectual character. The teachers 
are fine. I don't know how you could be so sure 
of your course in opposition to your mother's and 
my wish, but I am glad to see you a graduate of 
Wheaton, and I congratulate you on your un- 
doubted success." 

That was my father. He would own his mistakes 
when convinced that he was wrong. Indeed his 
love and care for me are interwoven with every 
part of my being. All the same, it must have 
been trying, at the time, to have a daughter who 
knew her own mind so thoroughly. 

It is worth while to consider how this determined 
difference with and rebellion against the wishes 
of my parents was consistent with my usual 
conscientious character. For at that time, my 
conduct was guided by a keen sense of right and 
wrong. I knew that obedience to parents was 
commanded in the Bible and was in itself the law 
of the family, especially while I was being sup- 
ported by my father. The simple fact was that 
we, my parents and I, were all concerned to procure 
for me, at small expense, the best education 
possible. I knew better than they (so I reasoned,) 


iribere my best devdopmeiit could be obtaiiied. 
I wished a thoroogli educatkm and was ready for 
hard wofk. My one term at Wheaton bad satis- 
fied me that there was no better place for fhe 
aoqtdiement of a woman's educatkm; at any rate 
it was the place for me. I suflEered, not from the 
thought that I was doing wrcmg, but because I 
had pained my father and mother , and had seemed 
ungrateful for all their goodness to me. 

Pather's friendship for Mr. I^vid N. Canq>, 
Mr. CSiailes Northend, md others connected with 
the Normal School in New Britain, infltienced 
him, I very well knew, in his wish that I should go 
thither. In mother's case she wished me to come 
home alt the end of every week, as I could easily 
do in an hour or two of traveling. This I knew 
would be detrimental to my success, as habits of 
study would be interrupted at home. I must have 
the solid term for work. 

I never regretted my decision, and it was a 
solitary instance of deliberate rebellion against my 
parents' wishes. One of the sweetest memories of 
my life is of that evening walk among the trees of 
Wheaton, when my father approved of my course. 





After the fine intellectual training which we 
received at Wheaton, the principal feattire of the 
school was its intensely religious atmosphere. 
This, of course, appealed to me. Half-hours, one 
for each roommate to be alone in her room, were 
rung morning and evening for private devotion. 
We were urged to spend this time in reading the 
Bible and prayer. I fear these duties were often 
hurried through, so as to have time for a last hasty 
glance at a lesson, but the influence of such a 
custom was felt in a quickening of conscience. 
Every Friday evening Deacon King came from 
Providence and held a prayer-meeting, after which 
he talked privately with those who wished to 
become Christians. He was an excellent and 
devoted man. Attendance at these meetings was 
not compulsory, but was, generally, large. "Con- 
versions" were frequent. Upon entering, I had 



told Mrs. Metcalf of my intention to become a 
missionary. She advised me to practice work of a 
missionary character while I was a student. The 
care of the yoimgest class in school was given me, 
and it was my duty to ascertain the spiritual state 
of each girl (about forty in all), and report to 
Deacon King. Every Wednesday evening I held 
a prayer-meeting (this was in my senior year), 
especially for those girls. I taught them also in 
Bible class on Sundays. Consequently many of 
them came to me in a most intimate way with 
their spiritual difl&culties. The one idea then was 
that we must "win souls for Christ," if we were 
really His followers. I will give one instance of the 
sort of work which I imdertook. 

A new student who puzzled and troubled me, 
because she seemed so unapproachable, cold, and 


haughty, entered one of the yoimger classes in the 
fall of 1 86 1. Eliza asked no favors from any one, 
and from choice avoided other girls so that she 
literally had no friends. She was perfect in her 
recitations, dressed well, seemed contented, and 
was, evidently, from a good family. I watched her 
for a long time, then determined to take up her 
case. One afternoon I asked her to walk with me. 
Greatly surprised, for she always walked alone, 
she hesitated, then consented. We were required, 


if well, to walk every pleasant afternoon, and many 
friendships were cemented in the beautiful, quiet, 
and safe paths which led through the woods, fields, 
and gentle roads of Norton. As we walked, I asked 
Eliza about her home and family. Her parents 
were not living, and she could not remember her 
mother. How my heart went out to her, thinking 
of my own mother and father ! An imcle was her 
guardian, and he had sent her to Wheaton, she 
thought, to get her out of the way. I asked her 
why she did not come to my prayer-meeting. She 
frankly said that she had no interest in religious 
matters. She said, further, to my horror, that she 
had never sinned, and had no need of a Savior. 
She had always been truthful, obedient to her 
uncle, and had done what she considered her duty. 
Had I any fault to find with her as a student? I 
had none. "But," I said to her, "you have 
failed to keep the most important commandment 
of all, the first and greatest. " This startled her 
and she asked what that commandment could be. 
I quoted the verse, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy 
God with all thy soul, heart, and mind." "Have 
you done that?" I said. She had never thought 
of that, and she wondered if it were possible to 
keep such a commandment. I told her that it was 
not, but we must try, and that our whole being 


must be filled with a desire thus to love our Maker. 
I saw that I had made an impression on Eliza, and 
I asked as an especial favor that she wotdd come to 
my Bible class the next Sunday. She promised, 
came, and seemed interested. I handed her a note 
as she went out asking her to walk with me again. 
But before the day came for our walk, I felt that 
I could not wait. I then wrote another note 
which I passed under her door, on the afternoon 
of the Wednesday evening prayer-meeting. I 
asked her to be present if she had made up her 
mind to try to keep the greatest of the command- 
ments. She was there, evidently under the stress 
of much emotion. I whispered to her to go to the 
small music room where we both often practised, 
and where I would soon come. I found her crying 
bitterly. She wept, she said, because she was the 
greatest of sinners, having broken the greatest of 
the commandments, while she called herself with- 
out sin. * * Conviction of sin " was most thoroughly 
illustrated. We both fell on our knees and prayed 
while we wept. Eliza clung to me. At last she 
was quieted, and we sat arm in arm upon the sofa, 
while we talked, literally, for hours. I was per- 
mitted the exercise of much discretion in the time 
of retiring, being a pupil-teacher. I quoted the 
verse, "He is faithful and just to forgive." She 


believed the promise, and asked me if I thought 
she was worthy to work for God. I assured her 
that in no other way could she show her sincerity. 
From that day Eliza was wonderfully transformed. 
She was approachable, friendly, pathetically 
humble. She was ardently attached to me and 
never passed me without a smile of sweet under- 
standing. We had many walks together and her 
conversation was almost wholly of what God 
had done for her and what she wished to do for 

Eliza remained with us until the close of the 
stmimer term, then went to her uncle's home. She 
expected to come back, but died, suddenly, a 
month or so after reaching home. 

Naturally, such work as this which strongly 
interested me, encroached upon my time for study. 
It was only by working early and late, by keeping 
my lamp burning long after the house was silent 
and dark, that I accomplished my school tasks. 
For my piano practice I was accustomed to rise at 
four and spend two hours before breakfast in the 
Seminary hall, where the dormitories could not be 
disturbed, practicing on the grand piano. Mr. 
Fuller, from Providence, was a very good teacher. 
Generally he was satisfied with my progress. If 
not, some sarcastic remark would make me 


feel most uncomfortable. He laid for me a fine 
foundation on the piano, which, later. I built 
further upon, during nearly two years* study in 


Mr. FuUei, Teacher of Husic in WheatoD Seminoi; 



The religious movement which I am about 
to describe, and which went like a fire through 
New England, including in a mighty revival, 
Christian people, some now living may be able to 
remember, along with the intensity of emotion 
with which it was attended. It was called a second 
conversion or sanctification. Those who attained 
to this state became holy, like God Himself, and 
lived without sin. Justification was experienced 
in the first conversion, but that was a low ideal 
for a Christian who should aspire to a sinless state, 
a habit of holiness. This was the highest ex- 
perience of a soul, either in heaven or on earth. 
Whoever attained would be imder the especial 
care of the Holy Spirit whose guardianship would 
be like a protecting armor of holiness, making sin 
impossible. This blessed uplift could be obtained 
by faith alone. God would answer prayer, even 

the prayer for holiness. If one believed that one 
x6 241 


came into that blessed state, one was already there. 
It was a region of perfect purity and peace. No 
trouble could disturb this peace which lifted the 
soul above affliction or bereavement. The desire 
for sanctification shook our school to its center. 
Por days teachers and pupils strove mightily for it. 
Classes were suspended, and prayer-meetings took 
their place. Deacon King was with us most of the 
time. At all hours of the day, supplication could 
be heard as a few gathered together in the small 
music and study rooms. We wept, we struggled. 
All faces were awe-struck. A solemn hush instead 
of the cheerful himi of girls' voices was everywhere. 
As one and another emerged from this sorrowful 
state and annoimced with joy that she had be- 
come sanctified, those who were still in darkness 
crowded around and asked how she had done it. 
The answer was always the same, **I simply 
believed God's word." With faces shining these 
persons went among the others and tried to help 
them. Most of the teachers professed *'to 
have attained," before the scholars. Those to 
whom no light was vouchsafed were wholly mis- 
erable. I was one of the last to believe, and 
reach sanctification, but, finally, after a solemn 
interview with Deacon King, I came into the 
light. After this I was calm and happy, and 


I told in prayer-meeting that my struggles wer^ 

There was a physical as well as psychological 
element in this singular experience. One cannot 
maintain such intense emotion for long. Some- 
thing must break. The calm that came from 
belief, or * 'faith, *' was, partly, at least, a nervous 
reaction, following intense excitement. 

If I remember correctly. Miss Larcom and Miss 
Cole kept away from this singular revival, but 
said nothing to discourage it. Mr. Fuller also 
kept silence, but I had the impression that he was 
secretly amused, and sceptical. 

I wrote home about my wonderful experience, 
and urged my parents also to believe and be sancti- 
fied. My father, while congratulating me, did not 
seem to be as enthusiastic as I supposed he would 
be. Perhaps the thought of a sinless daughter 
was not wholly pleasing. When I next went home, 
I determined to do some missionary work with 
father and mother. I had a lofty, spiritual air, a 
tranquillity of soul which nothing could disturb, 
for I wished to show them what a sanctified person 
should be. 

One day father and I walked down to the village 
together. My conversation was on high and holy 
themes. Father remarked about the weather, 


fearing it might rain before he could get in his hay. 
I remember my exact words in reply. **My 
heavenly Pather has sent this weather because it 
pleases Him. Therefore it pleases me." 

*'Oho/* said father. ''Being satisfied with the 
weather is sanctification is it?" 

I felt like a pricked toy balloon. I had reproved 
my father. Was that not sin? But I could not 
sin. I did not even need to guard against it, 
because now it was contrary to my nature. But 
how silly I must appear to father! Silly and 

Not all at once did I relapse from sanctification, 
but very soon I realized that * * the old man * ' was 
still there, and I was not only tempted, but gave 
way to irritation or sharp words, just as I always 
had done. And I recall with some amusement how 
relieved I felt to come down from my high estate 
where it had been really uncomfortable to keep 
myself constantly perched. I was like a child 
who, after trjring hard to be good, simply gives it 
up and enjoys being naughty. By and by I 
fancied that one conversion was enough for me, 
and I became normal in my conduct. Mother 
and father wisely said little, but they both 
suggested that my duty lay in self-forgetfulness, in 
ceasing to think about my own state, and in being 


kind and helpful where help was needed, in trjring 
to make the world a little better for my being in it. 
When I went back to Wheaton, everything was as 
usual; everybody sinned as of yore, and the word 
'*sanctification** became obsolete. 

The Civil War began while I was in Wheaton, 
and in the school it produced a mighty commotion, 
a wave of patriotism which swept all before it. We 
wore buttons and small flags. We spent every 
spare moment of our time in making gray flannel 
shirts and knitting woolen socks for the soldiers. 
We also pulled lint and rolled bandages. A few 
Southern girls dared to wear secession buttons. 
We Northerners made their lives a burden to 
them. We tore their buttons from their waists, 
and shimned the wearers as we would some con- 
tagious disease. At last Mrs. Metcalf interfered 
and took away the buttons from all of us; also 
she advised the Southern girls to go home and 
not come back. After the next vacation there 
were few among us who were not sympathizers 
with our tmion aspirations. 

We had a great flag raising. A fine flag was 
purchased with our imited contributions, and was 
raised and imfurled with great ceremony. Miss 
Larcom composed a poem for the occasion, and 
we had speeches from the trustees, in an out-of- 


doors meeting. We sang with all our strength of 
voice The Star-Spangled Banner, and we laughed 
and we cried as we sang. Most of us had a soldier 
friend or relative in the army, from whom we had 
exciting letters. I had one such friend, the boy 
that used to draw me on his fine sled to the 
Rockville school. He survived the war after a 
long hospital experience, having received a wound 
in the hip which lamed him for life, an honorable 
lameness as I thought then and do now. He too 
is gone. 



After my graduation from Wheaton, I remained 

at home for the simimer. I began seriously to 

consider carrying out my plans for becoming a 

missionary, and begged my father to propose my 

name to the Congregational Board of Missions, 

the A.B.C.P.M. He wrote to the Secretary of the 

Board, Mr. Treat, and invited him to visit us for 

the purpose of examining his daughter. This 

gentleman came, being interested, of course, in 

my candidacy. I told him I wished to teach in 

some such school as that in Beirut, where Miss 

Rice and Miss Fiske were then stationed. But 

first I would study for a year the language of the 

cotmtry to which I should be sent, without salary. 

My father, indeed, offered to pay my salary, ship 

a piano to my home, and send me whatever I 

should need for my happiness, of books, music, and 

furniture. Mr. Treat stayed with us two or three 

days studying me, I have no doubt, then gave his 



decision. It was adverse. He said that I was too 
delicate in health to enter upon such an arduous 
life, of the hardships and requirements of which 
I had no suspicion. If I were to go now, I would 
either break down or have to be sent home because 
of invalidism. They wanted in the work strong 
and sturdy women. * 'Besides,** he added, **we 
want married women more than single. Even if it 
curtails the wife's time to work, the Christian 
family planted in the midst of heathenism is worth 
more than teaching and preaching.*' Had I any 
thought of being some missionary's wife? I had 
not. The conclusion was that if my health became 
more settled in the course of a few years, I might 
offer myself again. At present it would be a 
needless sacrifice of an American girl's life, and Mr. 
Treat strongly advised a long rest in my home 
which, he said, was a most attractive place. 

I was not needed at home, the yoimger children 
being still there, and I intended to find something 
to do. In those days teaching was the only lady- 
like occupation, and my father strongly opposed 
even that for me, saying that there was money 
enough in the till for us both. But I could not rest. 
I knew that I should never present myself for 
the missionary field again. The enthusiasm had 
suddenly gone out. This then was the end of my 


aspirations in that direction. The responsibility 
was not mine. I felt that the Lord's hand was in 
it, and that He wanted me in some other place. 

One day two gentlemen drove from New Britain 
to see my father. They were Mr. Northend and 
Mr. Bartlett, the former one of a school committee, 
the latter the principal of the High School of that 
city. They were seeking an assistant to the 
principal for the school. They had met me at a 
** Teachers* Convention,*' held in Vernon. They 
knew of my desire to teach, and came to oflEer me 
the position. There need be no examination, as 
they had judged of my competency in my answers 
given at the convention to questions proposed by 
the leader. I accepted the position and left details 
to be arranged with father. I was to receive four 
hundred dollars salary, and would be instructed in 
my duties by the principal when the time came. 
I entered upon this work early in September, and 
remained for two years engaged in what was 
always a delightful task. Mr. Bartlett left after 
a year's time to take charge of the Normal School 
which held its sessions upstairs in the same 
building, and whose principalship was considered 
an advance both socially and pecuniarily upon that 
of our city high school. 

The members of the senior class of the Normal 


School, by teaching classes for practice in the High, 
saved the expense of a second assistant for that 
school. I never could see any other advantage, 
for the Normal pupils were young, always in- 
experienced, and generally were failures as 
regarded discipline. Their classes constantly de- 
manded supervision from the regular high school 
teachers. A substitute teacher has no real author- 
ity, and yoimgsters understand that perfectly. 

The Intermediate and Primary schools of the 
city were held in the same building with the High. 
During the morning and afternoon recesses the 
teachers of all the grades were accustomed to 
gather before the windows of the Intermediate 
which overlooked the yards where the boys and 
girls played. Miss Martin, an exceedingly capable 
and delightful teacher, had charge of this grade. 
She was a good singer, and taught her pupils to 
sing sweetly and with expression. I remember 
especially the singing by her class of List to the 
Mocking Bird. 

While we were in session one morning news came 
of a terrible battle which was going on, between 
the Federals and the Confederates in the Civil 
War, in which our side was likely to be defeated. 
I think, but am not sure, that this was the Battle 
of Gettysburg. Consternation filled every heart 


and fear paled every face. It was with difficulty 
that we could conduct our classes. At recess, as 
with common impulse, we gathered at Miss Mar- 
tin's window. We spoke in whispers, and some 
were in tears. Mr. Bartlett came into this group of 
sorrowful women. In a solemn voice he read the 
46th Psalm. 

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help 
in time of trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though 
the earth do change and the mountains be shaken into 
the heart of the seas. Though the waters thereof roar 
and be troubled, though the mountains shake with 
the swelling thereof. 

(The revised version is wonderfully poetical.) We 
were gradually calmed. **Now, ** said our princi- 
pal, **let us go about our duties with cheerfulness 
and confidence. We will not fear. In the end 
Right will triumph. '* The recess-over bell rang, 
and we went to our classes, cheered and strength- 
ened. Mr. Bartlett was an ideal man for his 
position, kind and lovable, with easy and perfect 
discipline. It was a blow to the High School 
when, at the end of my first year as assistant, 
he left us for the Normal. As no principal could 
then be engaged for our school, it being late in 
the summer, I was asked to assimie that posi- 
tion. I hesitated, for I was far from strong, and 



The religious movement which I am about 
to describe, and which went like a fire through 
New England, including in a mighty revival, 
Christian people, some now living may be able to 
remember, along with the intensity of emotion 
with which it was attended. It was called a second 
conversion or sanctification. Those who attained 
to this state became holy, like God Himself, and 
lived without sin. Justification was experienced 
in the first conversion, but that was a low ideal 
for a Christian who should aspire to a sinless state, 
a habit of holiness. This was the highest ex- 
perience of a soul, either in heaven or on earth. 
Whoever attained would be imder the especial 
care of the Holy Spirit whose guardianship would 
be like a protecting armor of holiness, making sin 
impossible. This blessed uplift could be obtained 
by faith alone. God would answer prayer, even 

the prayer for holiness. If one believed that one 
z6 241 


you again.** James began to tremble and beg. 
He apologized, and said he would obey all the 
rules if only I would ''call oflE" the big boys. I 
did so, asking for a delay of the penalty, during 
good behavior. After that I had no resistance to 
my lawful authority, nor the least infraction of 


I told in prayer-meeting that my struggles wer^ 

There was a physical as well as psychological 
element in this singular experience. One cannot 
maintain such intense emotion for long. Some- 
thing must break. The calm that came from 
belief, or ''faith,'* was, partly, at least, a nervous 
reaction, following intense excitement. 

If I remember correctly. Miss Larcom and Miss 
Cole kept away from this singular revival, but 
said nothing to discourage it. Mr. Fuller also 
kept silence, but I had the impression that he was 
secretly amused, and sceptical. 

I wrote home about my wonderful experience, 
and urged my parents also to believe and be sancti- 
fied. My father, while congratulating me, did not 
seem to be as enthusiastic as I supposed he would 
be. Perhaps the thought of a sinless daughter 
was not wholly pleasing. When I next went home, 
I determined to do some missionary work with 
father and mother. I had a lofty, spiritual air, a 
tranquillity of soul which nothing could disturb, 
for I wished to show them what a sanctified person 
should be. 

One day father and I walked down to the village 
together. My conversation was on high and holy 
themes. Father remarked about the weather, 


told Mrs. Metcalf of my intention to become a 
missionaiy. She advised me to practice work of a 
missionaiy character while I was a student. The 
care of the youngest class in school was given me, 
and it was my duty to ascertain the spiritual state 
of each girl (about forty in all), and report to 
Deacon King. Every Wednesday evening I held 
a prayer-meeting (this was in my senior year), 
especially for those girls. I taught them also in 
Bible class on Sundays. Consequently many of 
them came to me in a most intimate way with 
their spiritual difficulties. The one idea then was 
that we must **win souls for Christ," if we were 
really His followers. I will give one instance of the 
sort of work which I tmdertook. 

A new student who puzzled and troubled me, 
because she seemed so unapproachable, cold, and 
haughty, entered one of the yotmger classes in the 
fall of 1 86 1. Eliza asked no favors from any one, 
and from choice avoided other girls so that she 
literally had no friends. She was perfect in her 
recitations, dressed well, seemed contented, and 
was, evidently, from a good family. I watched her 
for a long time, then determined to take up her 
case. One afternoon I asked her to walk with me. 
Greatly surprised, for she always walked alone, 
she hesitated, then consented. We were required, 


if well, to walk every pleasant afternoon, and many 

friendships were cemented in the beautiful, quiet, 

and safe paths which led through the woods, fields, 

and gentle roads of Norton. As we walked, I asked 

Eliza about her home and family. Her parents 

were not living, and she could not remember her 

mother. How my heart went out to her, thinking 

of my own mother and father ! An uncle was her 

guardian, and he had sent her to Wheaton, she 

thought, to get her out of the way. I asked her 

why she did not come to my prayer-meeting. She 

frankly said that she had no interest in religious 

matters. She said, fiuther, to my horror, that she 

had never sinned, and had no need of a Savior. 

She had always been truthful, obedient to her 

unde, and had done what she considered her duty. 

Had I any fault to find with her as a student? I 

had none. **But, ** I said to her, **you have 

failed to keep the most important commandment 

of all, the first and greatest." This startled her 

and she asked what that commandment could be. 

I quoted the verse, '*Thou shalt love the Lord thy 

God with all thy soul, heart, and mind." "Have 

you done that?" I said. She had never thought 

of that, and she wondered if it were possible to 

keep such a commandment. I told her that it was 

not, but we must try, and that our whole being 


told Mrs. Metcalf of my intention to become a 
missionaiy. She advised me to practice work of a 
missionaiy character while I was a student. The 
care of the youngest class in school was given me, 
and it was my duty to ascertain the spiritual state 
of each girl (about forty in all), and report to 
Deacon King. Every Wednesday evening I held 
a prayer-meeting (this was in my senior year), 
especially for those girls. I taught them also in 
Bible class on Sundays. Consequently many of 
them came to me in a most intimate way with 
their spiritual difficulties. The one idea then was 
that we must "win souls for Christ," if we were 
really His followers. I will give one instance of the 
sort of work which I undertook. 

A new student who puzzled and troubled me, 
because she seemed so unapproachable, cold, and 
haughty, entered one of the younger classes in the 
fall of 1 86 1. Eliza asked no favors from any one, 
and from choice avoided other girls so that she 
literally had no friends. She was perfect in her 
recitations, dressed well, seemed contented, and 
was, evidently, from a good family. I watched her 
for a long time, then determined to take up her 
case. One afternoon I asked her to walk with me. 
Greatly surprised, for she always walked alone, 
she hesitated, then consented. We were required, 


if well, to walk every pleasant afternoon, and many 
friendships were cemented in the beautiful, quiet, 
and safe paths which led through the woods, fields, 
and gentle roads of Norton. As we walked, I asked 
Eliza about her home and family. Her parents 
were not living, and she could not remember her 
mother. How my heart went out to her, thinking 
of my own mother and father ! An tmcle was her 
guardian, and he had sent her to Wheaton, she 
thought, to get her out of the way. I asked her 
why she did not come to my prayer-meeting. She 
frankly said that she had no interest in religious 
matters. She said, fiuther, to my horror, that she 
had never sinned, and had no need of a Savior. 
She had always been truthful, obedient to her 
unde, and had done what she considered her duty. 
Had I any fault to find with her as a student? I 
had none. '*But," I said to her, '*you have 
failed to keep the most important commandment 
of all, the first and greatest." This startled her 
and she asked what that commandment could be. 
I quoted the verse, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy 
God with all thy soul, heart, and mind." **Have 
you done that?" I said. She had never thought 
of that, and she wondered if it were possible to 
keep such a commandment. I told her that it was 
not, but we must try, and that our whole being 


told Mrs. Metcalf of my intention to become a 
missionary. She advised me to practice work of a 
missionary character while I was a student. The 
care of the youngest class in school was given me, 
and it was my duty to ascertain the spiritual state 
of each girl (about forty in all), and report to 
Deacon King. Every Wednesday evening I held 
a prayer-meeting (this was in my senior year), 
especially for those girls. I taught them also in 
Bible class on Sundays. Consequently many of 
them came to me in a most intimate way with 
their spiritual difficulties. The one idea then was 
that we must "win souls for Christ," if we were 
really His followers. I will give one instance of the 
sort of work which I tmdertook. 

A new student who puzzled and troubled me, 
because she seemed so unapproachable, cold, and 
haughty, entered one of the yotmger classes in the 
fall of 1 86 1. Eliza asked no favors from any one, 
and from choice avoided other girls so that she 
literally had no friends. She was perfect in her 
recitations, dressed well, seemed contented, and 
was, evidently, from a good family. I watched her 
for a long time, then determined to take up her 
case. One afternoon I asked her to walk with me. 
Greatly surprised, for she always walked alone, 
she hesitated, then consented. We were required, 


if well, to walk every pleasant afternoon, and many 
friendships were cemented in the beautiful, quiet, 
and safe paths which led through the woods, fields, 
and gentle roads of Norton. As we walked, I asked 
Eliza about her home and family. Her parents 
were not living, and she could not remember her 
mother. How my heart went out to her, thinking 
of my own mother and father ! An uncle was her 
guardian, and he had sent her to Wheaton, she 
thought, to get her out of the way. I asked her 
why she did not come to my prayer-meeting. She 
frankly said that she had no interest in religious 
matters. She said, further, to my horror, that she 
had never sinned, and had no need of a Savior. 
She had always been truthful, obedient to her 
unde, and had done what she considered her duty. 
Had I any fault to find with her as a student? I 
had none. '*But, " I said to her, "you have 
failed to keep the most important commandment 
of all, the first and greatest." This startled her 
and she asked what that commandment could be. 
I quoted the verse, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy 
God with all thy soul, heart, and mind." "Have 
you done that?" I said. She had never thought 
of that, and she wondered if it were possible to 
keep such a commandment. I told her that it was 
not, but we must try, and that our whole being 


otir troth, taking those vows upon us which cannot 
lightly be loosened. 

It was a simple wedding, at which only a few of 
our friends and relatives were present, for otir 
house was not large, and in those days, quiet home 
weddings were the rule. Dr. Leonard Bacon 
married us, he having been persuaded, in the 
absence of our minister, to come to us from Yale 
College. Some of my atmts and tmdes were 
present, as well as my step-grandmother. Rock- 
ville and New Britain friends were there, few of 
whom are living now. I wore a simple dress of 
white organdie muslin, made in the full style of the 
day. I had artificial orange blossoms in my veil 
and carried a bouquet of white roses bought from 
a Hartford florist. The stockings and white kid 
slippers which I wore had been worn by my mother 
at her wedding. (I had sewed new bottoms to 
the feet of the stockings.) The slippers had very 
high heels and narrow toes so that I was extremely 
uncomfortable while I had them on, and slipped 
out of the room as soon as possible to don my own 
which were also of white kid. Such is the price 
paid by comfort to sentiment. 

Mother had prepared a botmtif ul luncheon which 
was enjoyed by every one. The marriage cere- 
mony was at three to accommodate the New 

Mrs. Caroline A. S. Creevef 

Taken looa •lice nuniag* 


Britain guests who came on the half-past two 
train. At five, I had changed my dress for a 
traveling suit of soft gray, including a pretty hat, 
and my husband and I took the train for New 
Haven where I met several of ' * the boys ' ' to whom 
I was the class bride. After that we visited my 
husband's parents, and then went to Cincinnati 
where my husband had an engagement to teach. 
After varied experiences in that city (twice I had 
the cholera and came near death), where we lived 
for the better part of six years, I went to Leipsic 
for the purpose of canying out my long-cherished 
desire to study the piano, harmony of music, and 
the German language. My husband meanwhile 
gave up teaching and fitted himself for the practice 
of law. A vigorous correspondence during this 
separation demonstrated that * * absence makes the 
heart grow fonder, " and our retmion after almost 
two years remains one of the most jojrful days of 
my life. We took up our residence in Brooklyn 
and Mr. Creevey practiced law in New York. 

It is not my purpose to extend these reminis- 
cences beyond that wonderful twentieth of August 
when we began our intimate life together. Of 
course we "lived happily together forever after,** 
but we had our share of trials, of bereavements, 
sicknesses, pain, struggles, disappointments, joy, 


and success. We treasure them all in Memory's 
golden bowl. It must be a true love between man 
and wife to stand the test of life. Sacrifices must 
be made by both, but if the years do not bring 
out of Cupid's romance a real comradeship, in 
which two natures learn perfect sympathy, in 
which they become more unselfish, more full of 
understanding, more intimate, more appreciative 
of the good qualities of each other, then marriage 
indeed, is a failure. And no tragedy is more pitiful 
than that. 

latest Photograph of Mra. Creevej 


It has been said that the only reason for an 
autobiography is the introduction into it of famous 
persons whom the writer has met, or failing that 
the life story must be absolutely true and frank. 
In my case, the first excuse does not exist; the 
second does. My childhood and girlhood were 
passed in a delightful seclusion, in intercourse with 
New England's best men and women, far from 
dty circles of wealth and fashion. And for 
that I cannot be too grateful. The religious 
atmosphere in which I lived was intense, strongly 
dominating character, guided by a ** lively con- 
science." We were sternly taught that what we 
wanted was not always the thing most desirable 
of attainment. **He that loseth his life shall 
gain it" was the spirit of our religion. To gain 
even the whole world and thereby lose one's 
soul (the phrase meaning deterioration of char- 
acter) would be a bad exchange. Self-sacrifice 
and self-control were early instilled into children's 




Many Christians were superstitiotis in their de- 
pendence on the Bible, believing, for instance, that 
the fall of Adam and Eve from a holy estate was 
responsible for all the sin and misery of the world, 
ever since. Charles Darwin had already disturbed 
that legend, and my father, whose mind was given 
to dear reasoning, followed the theory of evolution 
from lower to higher, with great interest. I re- 
member his saying that reason and the ability to 
have faith were both God-given, therefore they 
could not dash. Most people did not think at 
all in those days, any more than most people 
do to-day. They went with the multitude, or 
rather with the long-established doctrines of the 
Protestant church. The first flutterings of in- 
dividual flights of right thinking were weak and 
painful. Had my father lived thirty years later, 
he would cordially have hailed the advance of 
sdence, even when it disturbed old faiths. 

Such a life as mine, although uneventful, ought 
to be interesting, and, I hope instructive. I have 
always had a full life, free from that blasS feding 
which comes from not having enough to fill and 
round out the days. Time has never hung heavily 
on my hands. And now that I am on the border- 
land of old age, my prindpal emotion seems to be 
surprise. I do not feel older than when I was really 


young. If this is to be old, I do not dread it. I 
would not lose one out of the many years I have 
had, nor one of the trials and physical pains which 
I have suffered. They did not leave any real scars. 
The lines which tdl the story of my age are on my 
face. But who, at my age, would wish to have a 
perfectly smooth face? That would mean dearth 
of experiences, a barren record. In the summer of 
191 3 I went to Norton and was welcomed as a 
fifty-year-old graduate of Wheaton Seminary. 
The girls looked me over with a sort of curiosity. 
Many of them said, "Why, Mrs. Creevey, you 
don't look old as if you had been out of college 
fifty years. " I said to them, * * Dear young girls, it 
is true. I am a fifty-year-old graduate. But don't 
worry on my account. In some ways I am as 
young as you. And I have had time to learn many 
lessons that you still must learn and which you will 
find hard. " If life has been full of sweetness and 
love for us, of interesting family life and warm 
friends, every added year only freshens our youth 
by bringing immortality nearer, and adding to our 
wonderful store of memories. "Surely goodness 
andmercy have followed me all the days of my life." 
My early struggles with the religion of fear at 
length gave way to that of love. The wonder in 
my mind, — I don't call it doubt, — whether all 


could be true which I was taught as a child, came 
early, and after some years of indecision, in which 
I longed to know but could not; in which parts 
of the church creed slipped away from my sturdy 
belief, I came to rest quietly contented in the one 
only sure foundation of contentment, the assur- 
ance that a Divine Will is behind the laws of the 
universe, arranging the order of development 
which we call nature, and that this Divine Will 
also embraces the highest created thing, humanity ; 
that* harmony in nature can come only in con- 
formity to that Will, and that our human lives, 
in order to be perfected, must come into true 
subjection to that Will. Patience in suffering 
and trust for all that is mysterious has become my 
habit of thought. 

In my life many of my dear friends have gone 
on before. I miss them sorely and cannot bear 
to think I may not meet them again in some other 
planet, some fairer home where comradeship may 
be renewed through memory. But since I cannot 
have such absolute assurance, that also is the Will 
of God, and I can rest just there, hoping. Also 
I wish I might live another life to correct the 
mistakes made in this. But nothing really matters 
since the Father of Love directs all. 

My own expenence has taught me not to regard 


those who differ from me as wrong, while I am 
right. (This was a rather hard lesson for me to 
learn, for as a yotmg person I was exceedingly sure 
of myself. Indeed I was much too self-assertive.) 
God manifests Himself in many ways. Many 
find Him in the glorious tones of a well-played 
organ. And it does seem to me that in music is 
our highest expression of religion. Others find 
Him in Latin masses and processions, in incense 
and vested choirs. Some must kneel in prayer, 
while others bow the head. To some, every word 
in the Apostles Creed and the Shorter Catechism 
is heavy with truth and beauty. To me these 
are not essentials. Christ preached against long 
prayers which were uttered to be heard of men. 
He left few rules for our guidance, but left us 
free to find God as we would. Spiritual worship, 
which is essential, consists in drawing near to God 
(calling Him what we will, the Great Unknowable, 
the Universal Spirit, the Heavenly Father), and 
desiring to become like Him. It should be natural 
to open the heart to some perfect Being, infinitely 
greater than ourselves, whom we may call God. 
Those who feel that going to church and observing 
days for fasting and prayer are essentials to spirit- 
ual life and are meritorious in themselves, are 
entitled to my respect, although to me liturgical 


worship has no connection with morality and 
spirituality. It is the inner, the invisible life 
which counts, and the outward expression of our 
devotion may differ in a thousand ways, all of 
which may be acceptable to the One whom we 

Many women of this day seem to me to be 
making sad havoc of their opporttmities when they 
devote their best efforts to getting away from their 
sex, making of themselves a sort of hybrid, a cross 
between man and woman, being unable to perform 
all the duties of men, and unwilling to take up the 
distinctive work of women. The matter of ** votes 
for women" appears to me quite incidental and 
unimportant, except as it must almost inevitably 
be attended by the cheapening excitement of 
politics and, perhaps, by family discord. That 
which is termed feminism is certainly dishonoring 
to the home because it weakens love for and 
desire to have children. The ** spinster" from 
choice, and from a desire to pursue an tunnter- 
rupted career, deliberately casts aside husband, 
home, and children, her greatest blessings. She 
is opposing the Divine Will in her creation. It 
would have been possible for God to make us all 
men, of equal strength and ability, and to provide 
for the propagation of the htunan race in some 


other way. But He has not done so. And evil 
will come if we are out of harmony with that 
Will. It is fair to care for the "ego," and pro- 
vide for its true development. But I do not find 
the ego of the first importance. The great 
Teacher came not to be ministered unto. Self- 
development should make us strong to help the 
weak. And for her contentment there should be 
a big margin in every woman's life for duties 
and pleasures outside of her family cares. Until 
we find the true solution of the ** woman ques- 
tion/' unrest and disturbance, violent partisan- 
ship, waste of time and energy, with frequent 
divorces and neglected or unhappy homes, will 

I may not be called one of the new women 
because I believe certain things, the best of all ages, 
which cannot change. The ideals of true woman- 
hood are as old as Christ who used his wonderful 
powers, not for self-betterment and glorification, 
but for healing and comforting ; and as Paul who 
bade us bear one another's burdens. Too great free- 
dom for self is a form of selfishness and selfishness is 
the cardinal sin of our earth. There can be to-day 
no higher ideals of duty than were manifested in and 
wrought out of the souls of such women as my 
mother. Their well-balanced characters cannot be 


improved upon, even as the age moves on in sci- 
ence, in medicine, in wealth, in improvement of 
social conditions, in all material matters. Por the 
life of a man consists not in the outward things 
which affect him. 

As in the beginning of the Christ life the wise 
men cast their most precious gifts at the feet of 
the child, so must the women of this age do, find- 
ing their chief glory in being mothers of sons and 
daughters, else the Madonna crown will no longer 
encircle their brows. Perhaps the Puritan idea 
that this life is not all we have to live, but that it 
is the beginning of an age-long existence, if really- 
believed, would bring better results for us all than 
the materialism and unbelief which so generally 
prevail in our day. 

To be a daughter of the Puritans is a goodly